^E  pIRING  IlNH 
bi/  Damon  Runyon 

author  o/'tents  of  trouble" 


UC-NRLF 


B    3    3MS    653 


RHYMES  OF  THE  FIRING  LINE 


C  *      C  ( 


c     t      «     i      -c     c 
,  t       c     <  <^  <:    4 


RHYMES   OF 
THE    FIRING    LINE 


BY 

DAMON    RUNYON 

Author  of  "  Thi  Tents  of  Trouble  " 


NEW  YORK 

Desmond  FitzGerald,  Inc. 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1912 
By  Desmond  FitzGerald,  Inc. 


All  Rights  Reser^ved 


T  T  was  the  Good  Wind  speaking ; 
-*■      It  was  the  Good  Wind  said: 
"  Mother,  I  come  from  a  pathless  sea 
Where  none  before  had  gone,  save  me; 
And  there  I  saw  with  infinite  dread  — 
A  lonely  ship ; 

Battered  and  worn  from  a  desperate  trip. 
Mother,  aloft  your  flag  it  bore  — 
Crimson  and  blue  and  white  it  shone; 
And  high  above  the  sea's  sad  roar 
Voices  I  heard  that  echoed  your  own. 
And  strange  men  sang  a  song  — 
A  song  that  breathed  of  hope!  " 


253809 


The  author  is  indebted  for  the  reproduction  of  verse 
included  in  this  volume  to  the  People's  Magazine,  the 
Bohemian  Magazine,  Denver  Ne<ujs,  Lippincott's  Maga- 
zine, Munsey's  Magazine,  Sunset  Magazine,  Spare 
Moments,  Denver  Post,  Army  and  Navy  Life,  New 
York  Sun,  Army  and  Navy  Journal,  Pearson's  Magazine, 
the  Reader  Magazine,  Leslie's  Monthly,  Denver  Times, 
New  York  American,  and  the  souvenir  book  of  the 
Twenty-first  United  States  Infantry. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Rhymes  of  the  Firing  Line 

A  Song  of  "  Pants  " " 

Manila  —  Now J 

The  Night  Rider 

"Rumors    of    War" ^^ 

The  Pride  of  Peace ^^ 

Veteran  and  Recruit ^^ 

Hoof  Beats ^^ 

The  Passing  of  the  Veterans 3^ 

The    Marine ^^ 

"Soldiers!" ^^ 

The    City    that    Served 4-^ 

Officer  — and   Gentleman +5 

Nostalgia 

The  Moro  Man ^^ 

Sentry-Go ^^ 

First  —  and   Last ^^ 

Going   and    Coming 5 

The  Rear  Guard 57 

Datto  Jan ^9 

"  Eyes  o'  the  Army "  . ^^ 

To  the  Colors ^+ 

A    Song   from    Sulu y 

Christmas  in   Samar y 

When   God   Forgot •      •  °9 

The  Trust  of  the  Yellow  Man 73 

The   Sergeant's   Prayer 79 

"  Dixie  

Sailing  Orders ** 


CONTENTS 

PAGE: 

Gentlemen  of  Jeopard 

When    Men    Die 89 

Ballad  of  French  George 90 

"The   Man   Who  Can't   Go  Back" 93 

The  Boy  She  Used  to  Know 9^ 

The  Pick  and  Shovel  Brigade 9^ 

A   Divorce  Problem 101 

Ballad   of   Hop   Looey i03 

The  Song  of  the  Exiles 106 

Judge    Barleycorn 108 

The  One-Chance  Men no 

The  One  With  the  Cloudy  Eyes "3 

"John   Yegg"   Speaks "^ 

The  Story  of  Yaney  How 118 

The    Tearless    Eyes 122 

Ballad   of   the  Brakebeams 124 

Song   of   the   Lost   Trains 126 

Yee-Sang-Hip 12» 

Song  of  the  Steam  Shovel 132 

The  Fall  of  a  God I34- 

The  Last  of  the   Hackdrivers 138 

The  Outbreak 140 

Diamond  Ditties 

A  Minor  League  Melody 145 

The  Free  Hitter I47 

Blacklisted 149" 

Homeward    Bound I50> 

A  Ringside  Rhyme 151 

Pabalita    Sandoval I53 

Requiem 159' 


RHYMES  OF  THE  FIRING  LINE 


A  SONG  OF ''PANTS'' 

(The  American  soldier's  trousers  are  his  most  illy  fitting  gar- 
ment —  English    criticism. ) 

I'M  a-comin'  up  from  stables  in  me  ragged  pantaloons 
An'  me  shirt  tail's  flyin'  freely  out  behind; 
An'  me  ridin'   seat  has  patchin's  grinnin'  like  a  pair  o' 
moons  — 
'Tis  a  job  I  did  me  ownself,  d'ye  mind. 
An'  I  hears  th'  sergeant  bawl:  **  Hi,  come  to  th'  barrack 
hall  ; 
All  th'  officers  is  lookin'  you  askance. 
Yer  clothes  they  is  a  sight,  an'  th'  fittin'  is  a  fright  — 
Come  on  an'  git  some  pants,  pants,  pants!  " 

Few  clothes!  New  clothes! 

Clothes  to  soldier  in; 
Clothes    for    dress,    fatigue    an'    mess 

An'  clothes  for  sleepin'  in. 

New  clothes!  Blue  clothes! 

Dinner  er  a  dance  — 
Every  man  is  goin'  to  plan  his 

Pants!  Pants!  Pants! 
II 


A  SONG  OF  "  PANTS  " 

I've  drored  'em  by  th'  numbers;  when  Fd  want  a  pair  o' 
pants 
I'd  tell  th'  sergeant:  "  Gimme  Number  Two"; 
He'd  look  his  lot  all  over  an'  he'd  fit  me  from  a  glance  — 

If  he  was  shy  o'  Jwos,  why  threes'd  do. 
But  now  he  takes  me  measure  an'  he  measures  to  me  pleas- 
ure; 
He  doesn't  leave  a  single  inch  to  chance. 
Oh,  there's  cuttin'  an'  there's  snippin'  an'  there's  clippin' 
an'  there's  rippin' 
As  they're  reefin'  in  th'  surplus  o'  me  pants! 

Few  clothes!  New  clothes! 

Clothes  that  have  to  fit. 
Every  stitch  an'  even  hitch 

Where  you  has  to  sit. 

Grab  clothes!  Drab  clothes! 

Nothin'  left  to  chance; 

Every  ginney's  lovely  in  his 

Pants!  Pants!  Pants! 
# 

Oh,  they're  goin'  to  fit  'em  tightly  for  to  cover  up  th' 
waist  — 
(When  th'  grub  is  runnin'  light  th'  wrinkles  show.) 
An'  they'll  leave  no  slack  for  handholts  when  a  feller's 
gittin'  chased  — 
(But  they  haven't  said  allowances  will  grow.) 

12 


A  SONG  OF  "  PANTS  " 

Oh,  we'll  be  th'  swell  gazooks  when  it  comes  to  fancy 
looks  — 
You  kin  tell  we're  tailor-cultured  at  a  glance ; 
When   we   come   to   yer    attention,    oh,   we   wish   you'd 
kindly  mention 
Th'  architectural  beauty  o'  our  pants! 

New  clothes!  Blue  clothes! 

Clothes  o'  proper  hang; 
Clothes  o'  style  that  cost  a  pile 

To  give  th'  girls  a  pang. 

Few  clothes!  New  clothes! 

Soldiers  to  enhance; 
Every  ginney's  lovely  in  his 

Pants!  Pants!  Pants! 


13 


MANILA— NOW 

(THE  WAIL  OF  THE  RECRUIT) 

OAY!  I  came  here  to  these  Philippines  in  fightin'  form 
^  arrayed ; 

To  put  down  fierce  rebellion,  an'  some  other  things  like 
that; 
What   do   I   find?     What   do   I   see?     The   enemy's   in 
trade  — 
An'  all  the  war  is  fer  me  coin  an'  all  hands  gittin'  fat! 
They're   sellin'    socks,    they're   sellin'    shoes,    they're 
sellin'  bricky-braw; 
The    carnage    is   in    prices   an'    their   work    is   pretty 

raw; 
An'  as  fer  war  —  don't  mention  it  —  a  little  fightin' 
—  Pshaw ! 
They're  all  blame  glad  the  crooel  war  is  over! 

You  find  a  leadin'  citizen,  an'  pin  him  down  on  it; 
An'  smoke  him  out  considerable,  he'll  have  to  tell  you 
true 
That  he  came  in  a  transport  an'  he's  done  his  guard  house 
bit  — 
But  soldiers  don't  attract  him  now,  except  when  pay 
day's  due. 


MANILA— NOW 

Nebraska,    Pennsylvania,    Dakota,    Tennessee, 
They're   brothers   now    in    lodges,    an'    they're    glad 

the  country's  free  — 
An'    they    have   one    thing    in    common,    w'ich    that 
common   thing   is  me  — 
But  they're  mighty  glad  the  crooel  war  is  over! 

You   ast   a   pussy   banker   man,    who's   changin'    in   your 
gold  — 
"Was   you   a   snoljer,   onct,    ole   pal?"   he'll   eye  you 
through  his  specks; 
He'll  stop,  fergit  his  total,  an'  the  chances  is  yer  told, 
The  story  o'  his  lifetime  an'  the  things  wot  he  expects. 
"  My  frien',  I  came  wit'  Funston,  from  the  Kansas 
plains,  y'see; 
I  follered  him  acrost  Luzon  an'  up  a  mango  tree; 
I  swum  the  ragin'  Bag-Bag  an'  I've  got  six  medals 
—  me ! 
But  Fm  mighty  glad  the  crooel  war  is  over!  " 

You  ast  the  guy  wot  drives  you  in  a  funny  little  hack  — 
"Do  you  recall  them  fights  out  here?"   he  stops  his 
bosses  quick ; 
An'  in  his  pidgin  English,  he  will  start  to  take  you  back 
A  dozen  years  o'  history;  it  makes  a  ree-croot  sick. 
"  I  served  wit'  Aguinaldo  in  his  ole  Red  Pants  bri- 
gade ; 
I  was  wit'  Pio  del  Pilar  an'  in  the  Tondo  raid; 

15 


MANILA— NOW 

I   served   from    Hell-to-Breakfast   time,    a-settin'   in 
the  shade, 
But  Fm  mighty  glad  the  crooel  war  is  over." 

You  asts  a  grizzled  Chinaman,  a-squattin'  by  his  store; 
"  Do  you  know  anything  o'  war,  me  yaller  comrade, 
say?" 
An'  so  he  says,  an'  says  it  quick,  an'  acts  a  little  sore 
As  if  you  oughta  know  him  an'  his  tale  o'  yesterday. 
"  I    drove    the    swayin'    bull    carts    in    the    rear   o* 

Wheaton's  line; 
I  uster  smoke  me  hop,  y'see,  an'  hear  them  bullets 

whine ; 
I  carried  in  the  wounded,  an'  I  think  I  did  it  fine  — 
But  Fm  mighty  glad  the  crooel  war  is  over!  " 

You  ast  a  fat  policeman,  as  he's  pacin'  off  his  beat, 
"  M'frien',  you  look  so  peaceful,  did  you  ever  have  a 
fight?" 
He'll  bat  his  eyes  ferocious  an'll  say  wit'  plenty  heat  — 
"  Huh  ?     Say !     I  uster  live  on  'em ;  I  had  'em  every 
night. 
Me!     I  came  from  Minnesota,  wit'  the  Thirteenth 

Volunteers; 
Remember  we  policed  the  town  between  the  troubled 

years ; 
An'  graft  was  mighty  good  them  days,  I  recollects 
wit'  tears  — 
But  Fm  mighty  glad  the  crooel  war  is  over !  " 
i6 


MANILA— NOW 

You  ast  the  servants,  cook,  or  groom,  if  they  are  hep  to 
war; 
The  motorman,  the  street  sweep  an'  the  heathen  savage, 
too; 
You  ast  the  noble  barkeep  an'  the  feller  in  the  store 
An'  every  one  has  records,  an'  a  battle's  nothin'  new. 
The  fought  their  way  acrost  Luzon,  an'  down  in 

Mindanao ; 
In  Cebu  an'  most  everyw^here  that  they  could  pick 

a  row  — 
What  chanst  fer  trouble  has  a  guy  who's  lookin'  fer 
it  now 
When  they're  all  so  glad  the  crooel  war  is  over? 


17 


THE  NIGHT  RIDER 

A  SONG  OF  THE  FILIPINO  CONSTABULARY 

''Halt/     Who  is  there!" 

"  A   friend!  " 
"  'Vance,  friend,  to  be  recognized.** 

"  All  right,  constable!  " 


BLACK  o'  th'  night  an'  th'  sighin'  trees, 
Faraway  hoofs  like  a  throbbin'  drum; 
Out  o'  th'  dark  on  a  hasty  breeze 

Swift  as  a  shadow  I've  seen  him  come. 
Rowels  a-rattlin'   a  cheerful   tune; 

Jerk  o'  th'  head  an'  a  brief  "  Hello!  " 
Passes  th'  challenge  along  to  th'  moon ; 

Where  did  he  come  from,  where  did  he  go? 

Lathered  with  sweat  an'  a  dusty  gray, 

Guidin'  his  boss  by  th'  feel  o'  his  knees; 
Out  o'  th'  night  an'  into  th'  day 

Slidin'  along  like  a  frightened  breeze. 
Holdin'  his  hungry  boss  aright 

(Slap  o'  th'  spur  gives  a  holler  sound)  — 
"Howdy,  sentry;  a  beautiful  night." 

'Way  in  th'  distance  I  hear  him  pound. 

i8 


THE  NIGHT  RIDER 

Ripple  o'  flame  in  a  sooty  sky; 

Snap  o'  th'  bamboo  fire  he  hears; 
Purr  o'  th'  bullets  whimperin'  by, 

Whine  o'  th'  wimmin  an'  ladrone  cheers. 
Somewhere  a  barrio's  gone  to  smoke; 

Maybe  a  tribe  has  run  amuck  — 
Out  on  th'  road  th'  Constable  bloke 

Puttin'  his  trust  in  God  an'  in  luck! 


Leavin'  his  niggers  to  snooze  an'  dream, 

Dressin'  between  his  boss's  jumps; 
"  Mornin',  sentry,"  a  whitish  gleam  — 

Challenge  Is  lost  In  th'  echoln'  thumps, 
Somewhere  is  Trouble  an'  Trouble's  him ; 

Crash  in  th'  dark  an'  a  rifle  flare, 
Flash  of  a  bolo  —  a  margin  slim  — 

Medley  o'  shots  on  th'  still  night  air! 


Where  did  he  come  from,  where  did  he  go? 

Out  o'  th'  night  like  a  sad  ole  ghost, 
Wave  o'  th'  hand  an'  a  brief  *'  Hello!  " 

Leavin'  me  dozin'  along  my  post. 
Always  he  comes  in  th'  same  ole  way, 

Ridin'  an'  slldin'  out  o'  th'  night. 
Rattle  o'  hoofs  an'  a  vision  gray, 

Hurryin'  somewhere  into  a  fight. 

19 


THE  NIGHT  RIDER 

Seat  of  his  pants  rhinoceros  hide, 

Stomach  is  lined  with  a  copper  plate, 
Sun  dried  nerves  but  a  cast  steel  pride; 

Lips  cold  set  in  a  grin  at  Fate, 
Muscles  hardened  as  drawn  wire  — 

Senses  quickened  an'  short  drawn  breath  — 
Eyes  a-glitter  with  watchful  fire. 

Ears  sharp  set  to  th'  step  o'  Death. 

Where  do  they  git  'em;  why  do  they  stay? 

(Death  don't  play  'em  no  favorites  yet.) 
Never  no  honors  an'  blame  poor  pay; 

Never  no  medals  or  names  —  brevet. 
What  is  their  end?     Ah,  who  can  tell? 

Each  to  th'  game  he  loves  th'  best  — 
Brothers,  I  bid  you  all  farewell  — 

Luck  to  you  all  an'  a  peaceful  rest ! 

''Halt/     Who  is  there f' 

"  A  friend!  " 
*'  *Vance,  friend,  to  be  recognized.* 

''All  right,  constable!'* 


20 


"RUMORS  OF  WAR'' 

(JUST  ANY  OLD  TIME) 

T  'LL  bet  there's  a  diggin'  in  rubbish  piles,  in  garrets, 

-■■  an'  trunks  decayed; 

I'll  bet  there's  a  rattle  in  graveyards,  too,  where  th'  bones 

o'  th'  gang  are  laid; 
I'll  bet  there's  a  harkin'  o'  memories  back  to  th'  'Frisco 

o'  Ninety-nine 
As  they're  readin'  discharges  they'd  long  forgot  an'  findin' 

that  capital  line: 
"  No  objection  to  his  re-enlistment  is  known  to  exist/' 

I'll    bet    there's    some    gents    with    their    eyeglasses    ofE 

a-trainin'  on  minion  type; 
I'll  bet  there's  some  closets  with  chest-weights  hung  an' 

punchin'  bags  gittin'  a  swipe; 
An'  /  know  there's  a  sudden  renewin'  o'  friends  that  had 

died  with  th'  lapse  o'  time, 
An'  I  reckon  they're  readin'  that  asterisk  mark  along  o' 

th'  capital  line: 
''No  objection  to  his  re-enlistment  is  known  to  exist." 

I  know  there's  a  noddin'  on  Seventeenth  street  by  Jen- 
kins, society  swell, 

To  Grimes,  who's  drivin'  a  beer  wagon  team  an'  Hig- 
gins,  who's  goin'  to  Hell. 
21 


"RUMORS  OF  WAR'' 

For  all  o'  them  hiked  it  with  Company  A  an'  left  it  In 

Ninety-nine  — 
An'  all  o'  them  hold,  an'  are  proud  o'  th'  same,  a  paper 

that  carries  th'  line: 
"  No  objection  to  his  re-enlistment  is  known  to  exist/* 


I'm  told  of  a  sudden  increasin'   in  meets  by  a  Spanish- 
American  vet  — 

An'  quorums  that  couldn't  be  mustered  before  are  only 
too  easy  to  get ; 

I'm  told  by  th'  kids  in  th'  National  Guard  that  th'  old 
'uns  are  comin'  in  fine  — 

An'  I  wonder  If  some  o'  it  couldn't  be  traced  along  o' 
that  capital  line: 
''No  objection  to  his  re-enlistment  is  known  to  exist/* 

I  know  that  I'm  hearin'  no  longer  th'  talk  that  th'  gang 

used  to  peddle  so  strong 
O'  "  hardships,"  an'  ''  hunger,"  an'  "  maggoty  beef,"  an* 

th'  "  never-enlist-again  "  song; 
An'  I've  watched  'em  eyin'  a  street  parade  an'  noted  their 

feet  markin'  time  — 
To  th'  swing  o'  th'  band,  an'  I've  credited  It  down  along 

o'  that  capital  line: 
"^  No  objection  to  his  re-enlistment  is  known  to  exist/* 


22 


"RUMORS  OF  WAR'' 

Well,  th'  most  o'  us  play  with  our  whiskers  now,  or  tryin' 

to  raise  up  a  kid  — 
An'   nine  long  years  in  th'   discard's  went  —  an'   Gawd 

knows  how  they've  slid  — 
But  th'  Eighth  Corps'  ghost  may  gather  again  in  'Frisco 

—  lik^  Ninety-nine. 
If  Uncle'U  take  it  as  gospel  truth  —  th'  words  o'  that 

capital  line : 
"  No  objection  to  his  re-enlistment  is  known  to  exist/' 


23 


THE  PRIDE  OF  PEACE 

NOW  th'  God  o'  War  he's  gone  asleep  an'  nary  a 
sound  is  heard; 
An'  even  th'  kaiser's  shut  his  face  an'  hasn't  a  single  word. 
When  th'  God  o'  War  he  takes  a  nap  an'  th'  little  gods 

they  snore 
Th'  good  folks  look  about  an'  say:  **  Well,  what's  that 

army  for?  " 
"  Oh,  what's  that  standin    army  standin    for? 
We  do  not  need  it,  hardly,  there's  no  war; 
There  ain't  a  sign  o'  trouble  an   our  taxes  they  is  double  — 
So  what's  that  standin  army  standin   forf  " 

Now  th'  God  o'  War  he  slumbers  long  an'  th'  good  folks 

look  about; 
It's  ''What's  th'  matter  with  th'  army?     We'd  better 

find  it  out  " ; 
A  private  he  wuz  drunk  last  night  —  we  hear  from  Mus- 

kadeen  — 
Which  proves  our  argyments  agin  th'  in-iki-tus  canteen. 
"  Oh,  what's  that  standin   army  standin'  forf 
It  must  be  very  rotten  to  th'  core; 
It  needs  investigatin    an    th'  management  beratin  — 
For  what's  that  standin   army  standin   forf  '* 

24 


THE  PRIDE  OF  PEACE 

Now  th'  God  o'  War  snores  right  along  an'  th'  good  folks 

start  reform; 
It's    "  Somethin's    wrong,    somewhere,    somehow;    we'll 

make  their  britches  warm; 
We'll  bar  th'  privates  from  our  set  —  their  clothin'  makes 

us  sore  — 
There  ain't  a  war  nowhere,  nohow  —  so  what's  that  army 

for?" 
"  Oh,  what's  that  standin    army  standin    forf 
We  do  not  think  we  need  it  any  more; 
Th'  privates  must  be  lazy  an    th'  officers  are  crazy  — 
Else  what's  that  standin   army  standin    forf  " 

When   th'   God  he  whistles   through  his  nose   th'   good 

folks  are  dismayed  — 
They  say:    "We  orter  kick  him  up,  unless  th'  army's 

'fraid  " ; 
When  th'  God  o'  War  he  moves  a  leg  an'  mumbles  in  his 

sleep  — 
Th'  good  folks,  chesty  in  their  peace,  set  up  an  orful  weep ; 
"Oh,  what's  that  standin    army  standin    forf 
We  re  paytn    it  to  keep  from  havin   war; 
A  fight  aint  healthy  diet  when  th'  money  market's  quiet  — 
That's  what  that  standin   army's  standin   for!  '* 

When  th'  God  o'  War  he  bats  an  eye  an'  yawns  like  he's 
awake 

25 


THE  PRIDE  OF  PEACE 

Th'  good  folks  hunt  for  cover  an'  their  knees  begin  to 

shake ; 
When  th'  God  o'  War  he  gurgles  once  an'  starts  to  snore 

again 
Th'   good   folks   look   about   an'   say:    "  Now   where's 

THEM  FIGHTIN'  MEN?  " 

"  Oh,  whafs  that  standin    army  standin    for? 

We  think  we've  been  Insulted;  start  a  war  — 

We  think  we  need  some  fightin   an   some  wrongs  we  need 

a-rightin^ — 
So  what's  that  standin    army  standin    for?  " 


26 


o 


VETERAN  AND  RECRUIT 

H,  we're  goin'  Into  action,  you  kin  hear  th'  flankers' 


shots 

As  they're  sparrin'  for  position  on  th'  right; 
You  kin  hear  th'  rifles  workin'  as  th'  lone  outposts  they 

pots, 
An'  you  knows  ver  gettin'  nearer  to  th'  fight. 
Oh,  we're  goln'  Into  battle,  you  kin  hear  th'  field  guns 

rattle 
As  th'  gunners  get  th'  distance  out  ahead ; 
An    th'    orflcers    say    "Steady!     Bring    yer    rifles    to    a 
'  ready  '  " — 
Or  was'lt  only  "  'Tentlon,"  that  they  said? 

Th'  sergeant  there  behind  us,  he  Is  lookln'  mighty  wise. 

He  is  watching  all  th'  rookies  In  th'  line ; 
An'  as  you  note  his  calmness  you  kin  feel  yer  spirits  rise, 

For  if  he's  kinder  sick  he  gives  no  sign. 
Oh,  th'  rain  Is  softly  fallln'  an'  th'  bugles  are  a-callln'. 

As  th'  regiment  Is  spreadin'  like  a  f  an ; 
An'  you  hears  th'  steady  churnin'  o'  th'  automatics  turnin', 

An'  you  wonders  what  'd  happen  if  you  ran. 

Oh,  we're  goin'  Into  action ;  here,  th'  line  Is  movin'  on, 
An'  th'  country  looks  so  peaceful  out  ahead; 

27 


VETERAN  AND  RECRUIT 

You  kin  see  th'  mists  arisin'  an'  unsheetin'  o'  th'  dawn, 
An'  you  wonders  how  it  feels  when  you  are  dead. 

You  kin  hear  th'  steady  patter  o'  th'  bullets  as  they  chatter 
Their  little  song  o'  welcome  to  th'  trees. 

An'  you  has  some  thoughts  o'   mother,  sister,  wife  an* 
mebbe  brother. 
As  you  hears  yer  heart  a-workin'  with  a  wheeze. 

We  are  goin'  into  action,  as  we've  often  gone  before, 

An'  we  know  our  blasted  feelin's  like  a  book ; 
A  hundred  times,  perhaps,  we  heard  this  same  old  battle- 
roar 

An'  these  shakin's  we're  a-shakin'  always  shook. 
Oh,   we're  goin'   into  battle,   you   kin   hear   our  molars 
rattle ; 

For  veteran  or  rooky,  it's  th'  same; 
But  you  mustn't  ever  show  it ;  ever  let  th'  fellers  know  it ; 

An'  when  you  die  they'll  mention  you  went  game! 


28 


HOOF  BEATS 

WHAT  do  the  horses'  hoofses  say 
Poundin'  on  the  road? 
Raisin'  a  blanket  o'  dusty  gray, 

Complainin'  o'  their  load? 
Listen,  an'  hear  'em  talk  — 
Gallop  or  trot  or  walk, 

This  is  what  the  hoofses  say 
Poundin'  on  the  road: 

''A  mile!  A  mile!  A   mile!" 

Boot  'em  along  an   smile! 

The  sabers  clank  to  the  plank ety-plank 

"  A  mile!  A  mile!  A  mile!  " 

What  do  the  horses'  hoofses  say? 

To  some  o'  home  they  speaks  — 
See  'em  dreamin'  the  miles  away 

An'  many  a  smile  they  sneaks. 
Friends  an'  a  people  dear, 
Many  a  mile  from  here; 

To  them  the  horses'  hoofses  say 

Poundin'  on  the  road: 


29 


HOOF  BEATS 

"A  mile!  A  mile!  A  mile!" 

We'll  get  home  after  awhile: 

Me,  Oh,  my!     The  road  slides  by  — 

''  A  jnile!  A  mile!  A  mile!  " 

What  do  the  horses'  hoofses  say? 

To  some  they  speaks  o'  grub ; 
O'  sweet  repose  at  close  o'  day 

An'  rest  from  saddles'  rub. 
Cussin'  beneath  their  breath, 
Nary  a  thought  o'  Death, 

They  hears  the  horses'  hoofses  say 
Poundin'  on  the  road: 

"  Tlankety,  plankety,  plankety,  plank! 

"' Plankety,  plankety,  plank!" 
"  Giddap,  you  skate,  er  we'll  be  late  — ' 

''Plankety,  plankety,  plank!" 

That's  what  the  horses'  hoofses  say  — 

"  Plankety,  plankety,  plank!  " 
Churnin'  the  weary  miles  away 

To  the  tune  o'  the  sabers'  clank. 
Gallop  or  trot  or  walk, 
Listen  and  hear  'em  talk, 

That's  what  the  horses'  hoofses  say 

Poundin'  on  the  road: 


30 


HOOF  BEATS 

A  mile!  A  mile!  A  mile!  " 
Flankety,  plankety,  planJi! 
A  mile!  A  mile!  A  mile!'' 
Plankety,  plankety^  plank! 


31 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  VETERANS 

NOW  twenty  men  went  out  to-day  and  ain't  a-comin' 
back; 
An'  every  one  left  twenty  years  behind  him. 
An'  four  of  them  were  medal  men  an'  one  wuz  Sergeant 
Slack  — 
A  farmer  waited  at  the  gate  an'  signed  him. 
Now  Slack  he  fought  in  Texas  an'  he  rode  with  Nelson 

Miles; 
An'  Slack  he  wuz  at  Wounded  Knee  an'  on  them  Cooban 

Isles; 
An'   Slack  has  had  his  mention  an'  his  medals,   too,   in 
piles  — 
But  Slack  he  couldn't  live  on  passin'  glory. 


Oh,    they    soon    forgot    that    Texas    ride;    th*    fight    at 

Wounded  Knee; 
They  soon  forgot  th*  Injun  wars  an    all  his  gallantly; 
They  soon  forgot  Guaysimas  an    th'  jam  at  El  Caney  — 
{They  gave  him  barrels  of  mention,  but  forgot  to  raise 

his  pay.) 

32 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  VETERANS 

Th'   one  year  men  o'   B   troop  cried   at  seein'   Sergeant 
Burke  — 
They  recollect  th'  kindly  way  he  trained  'em; 
(Th'  oldest  in  th'  regiment;  he's  left  to  go  to  work)  ; 

Th'  officers  they  showed  him  how  it  pained  'em. 
Now   Burke  he   gained   his   mention   for   th'   capture  o' 

Pilar ; 
An'    Burke   he   wears   beneath   his   shirt   a-many   wicked 

scar, 
For  Burke  wuz  in  th'  Boxer  war  an'  also  on  Samar  — 
But  Burke  he  couldn't  live  on  passin'  glory. 

They  soon  forgot  Manila  an    th'  capture  o'  Pilar; 

Th'  wounds  he  got  at  Imus  an    his  bravery  on  Samar  — 

They  mentioned  him  for  Pekin  when  he  scaled  the  heathen 

wall 
But  didn't  raise  his  standin    or  raise  his  pay  at  all. 

Th'  sick  men  they  regretted  when  they  noticed  Private 
Day; 

They  raised  their  weakish  voices  an'  they  cheered  him. 
He's   nussed   this  whole  world   over,   w'ich   is   why   he's 
gittin'  gray  — 
His  tender  tech  to  thousands  has  endeared  him. 
Now  Private  Day  for  tw^enty  years  wuz  In  the  same  ole 

corps ; 
He  started  out  with  Injuns  an'  wuz  in  th'  Moro  war; 

33 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  VETERANS 

He  saw  his  youth  an'  manhood  fade  an'  finally  he  got 
sore  — 
For  Day  he  couldn't  live  on  passin'  glory. 

Th^  riot  in  th'  camp  he  quelled  wuz  mentioned  with  th' 

rest; 
His  service  in  th'  cholera  plague  is  medaled  on  his  breast; 
His  bravery  in  th'  Frisco  quake  was  talk  for  just  a  day  — . 
{They  medaled  him  an    mentioned  him,  but  didnt  raise 

his  pay.) 

Then  Johnny  Smith,  th'  hopeful  one,  he  got  a  shout  from 
all. 
For  Johnny  wuz  th'  last  we  thought  would  quit  us, 
'Cause  Johnny  used  to  always  say  that  congress,  in  th' 
fall, 
Would  surely  make  a  salary  to  fit  us. 
An'  Johnny  gained  his  medal,  but  a  life  o'  hope  he  spent; 
For  twenty  years  he  waited  an'  each  congress  came  an' 

went. 
An'  now  at  last  he's  give  it  up  an'  quit  th'  regiment  — 
For  Johnny  couldn't  live  on  passin'  glory. 

Oh,  now  he's  quit  th*  service  an    is  sweatin    in  a  store; 
{His  stripes  they  run  from  wrist  to  neck  an    every  stripe 

a  war;) 
His  name  goes  down  in  history,  or  it  mebbe  will  some 

day  — 
As  medaled  by  his  congress  w'ich  forgot  to  raise  his  pay. 

34 


THE  MARINE 

WITH  a  hitch  to  his  trouserloons,  and  a  seaman  roll 
in  his  gait, 
His   handiest   tool   a   Springfield    full   and   his   home   of 

armor  plate; 
Cavalry,  guns  and  foot,  he  one  and  all  combines 
As  he  charges  the  foe  ashore  or  fights  the  water  mines. 
No  gay  parade  for  him ;  his  world  a  watery  sheen  — 

A    rootin',    tootin', 
Cuttin',   shootin', 
Uncle   Sam  Marine! 

Arctic  or  torrid  zone,  he  fights  In  the  cold  or  the  heat, 
He's  back  of  the  guns  till  the  battle's  won,  the  bulwark 

of  the  fleet; 
On  cruiser  or  submarine,  destroyer,  torpedo  boat 
He  stands  to  his  work  with  never  a  shirk,  a  cheer  In  his 

dusty  throat; 
A  human  made  of  steel,  he  fights  as  a  living  machine  — 

A  rootin',  tootin', 

Cuttin',  shootin', 
Uncle  Sam  Marine! 
35 


THE  MARINE 

Guantanamo    to    Samar;    on    the    Chinaman's    heathen 

ground 
He's  left  his   dead   as  with  steady  tread  he   fought   the 

world  around. 
Horse  and  foot  and  guns,  he  one  and  all  combines 
As  he  backs  the  ship's  big  guns  or  charges  the  enemy's 

lines. 
No  flowers  for  his  grave  and  none  to  keep  it  green  — 

A  rootin',  tootin', 

Cuttin',  shootin', 
Uncle  Sam  Marine! 

Is  there  trouble  in  Maroo,  or  some  other  far  of?  port? 
The  same  which  means  they  need  marines  for  a  scrim- 
mage of  any  sort? 
Is  our  counsel  in  distress  on  some  unfriendly  shore? 
Lower  away  the  cruiser's  launch  with  a  file  of  the  fight- 
ing corps! 
No  spot  on  the  starry  flag  with  such  to  keep  it  clean 

As  a  rootin',  tootin', 

Cuttin',  shootin'. 
Uncle  Sam  Marine! 

With  a  hitch  to  his  trouserloons,  and  a  seaman  roll  in 

his  gait, 
His  handiest   tool   a   Springfield    full   and   his  home   of 

armor  plate; 
Cavalry,  guns  and  foot,  he  one  and  all  combines 
As  he  charges  the  foe  ashore  or  fights  the  water  mines; 

36 


THE  MARINE 

No  gay  parade  for  him,  his  world  a  watery  sheen 

A  rootin',  tootin', 

Cuttin',  shootin', 
Uncle  Sam  Marine! 


37 


"  SOLDIERS! " 

("Almost  universal  hostile  attitude  of  civilians  toward  the 
army  uniform "  —  Reason  ascribed  by  an  army  officer  for  de- 
sertion of  soldiers.) 

A  CHEER  goes  rippling  along  the  street  — 
A  cheer! 
There's  a  rattle  of  horns  and  the  steady  beat 
Of  throbbing  drums  and  the  scrape  of  feet  — 
And  a  cheer  goes  rumbling  along  the  street  — 
What's  here? 
Soldiers! 

Time  of  Peace  and  the  empty  drill ;  time  of  the  Hostile 
Attitude  ; 

Lo,  the  music  it  brings  a  thrill  such  as  the  Spirit  of  War 
imbued ! 

A  sudden  halt  in  the  city  swarms  at  the  sight  of  the  band 
and  the  uniforms  — 

Hark!    A  roar  of  wild  applause  —  a  silence  of  deep  re- 
spect   because 

The  colors  pass  — 
Heads  bare!     The  colors! 

Flash  of  flame  as  the  sunbeams  fall 
On  the  bayonet  tips  and  the  bugle  call 

38 


SOLDIERS 

Goes  sweet   and   clear   to   the   highest  wall  — 
"Steady!  All!" 

Rank  on   rank  and   the  crowds  breathe  hard;   see  them 

sway  to  the  music's  spell  — 
Regular    Line    or    the    National    Guard;    Hark!     How 

rises  the  native  yell! 
Lo,  the  city's  rush  stands  still;   (time  of  Peace  and  the 

empty  drill.) 
Then  arises  a  mighty  roar  as  angry  waves  on  a  bitter 

shore  — 

Silence!     The  colors! 
The  colors  pass! 

Lines  of  tape  and  the  faces  brown; 
Tailor-made  from  the  soles  to  crown; 
Cheer  on  cheer  as  the  lines  roll  down  through  town  — 
"  'Round !     Swing  'round !  " 

Time  of  Peace  and  the  empty  drill;  time  of  the  Hostile 

Attitude; 
Many  a  year  since  Bunker  Hill,  Gettysburg  or  the  Spanish 

brood. 
Never  a  sign  of  national  storms  —  mark  the  band   and 

the  uniforms! 
Lo,  the  city  comes  to  pause — Hark!     A  roar  of  wild 
applause  — 

Silence!     The  colors! 
The  colors  pass! 
39 


SOLDIERS 

A  cheer  goes  rippling  along  the  street  — 

A  cheer! 
Thunder  of  brass  and  the  tuneful  beat 
Of  drums  in  time  to  the  shuffling  feet  — 
And  a  yell  swings  up  through  the  startled  street 
What's  here? 
Soldiers ! 


40 


T 


THE  CITY  THAT  SERVED 

Manila  — 1898-1912 

HEIR  hair  is  shot  with  the  Service  white,  as  they 
sit  in  their  clubs  at  ease, 
And  watch  the  chattering  boats  slip  in  and  out  through 

the  purple  seas; 
They  hear  familiar  tongues  in  the  street  and  the  beat  of 

a  heart  they  know 
From  the  town  that  lies  in  its  silver  robes,  enriched  by 

the  sunset  glow. 

Their  eyes  are  strained  with  a  grave  concern,  set  deep 

by  the  old  time  fears; 
And  they  take  their  rest  in  a  watchful  w^ay;  the  habit  of 

bygone  years; 
They  talk  of  affairs  of  world  concern  and  the  change  that 

time  has  wrought; 
Each  face  marked  deep  by  the  Service  Stripes,  that  an 

hour  of  trouble  brought. 

They  sweep  their  hands  to  the  town  that  breathes  full 

lunged  in  its  new  found  health; 
To  the  streets  alive  with  a  business  rush  and  the  quays 

piled  high  with  wealth  — 

41 


THE  CITY  THAT  SERVED 

**  We  came,"  they  say,  "  to  a  blare  of  bands,  and  the  fervor 

of  crashing  cheers  — 
And  some  of  us  that  were  Regulars  then,  have  staid  here 

as  Volunteers! 

Oh,  w^e  vrere  the  pride  of  the  Middle   States  and  the 

flower  of  the  far  Northwest ; 
While  some  of  us  came  from  the  eastern  coast  and  the 

South  gave  us  its  best  — 
And  we  all  were  young,  and  we  all  were  gay,  and  we  all 

were  fierce  for  war. 
But  our  battle  has  come  since  the  stirring  days  of  the  old 

Eighth  Army  Corps! 

We  took  this  town  by  the  force  of  arms  and  we've  held 

by  the  force  of  peace; 
And  it's  taken  us  most  of  twelve  long  years  to  scrub  ofiE 

the  dirt  and  grease; 
But  we  can  sit  in  our  comfort  now,  for  we've  seen  our 

dreams  come  true  - — 
And   it  wasn't  the  job  that  we  came  here  for,   but  the 

work  that  we've  staid  to  do! 

We've  long  forgotten  the  clatter  of  hoofs  and  the  cheers 

of  the  charging  line; 
The  rattle  and  crash  of  small  arms  died  along  with  the 

shrapnel's  whine; 

42 


THE  CITY  THAT  SERVED 

The  thunder  and  peal  of  Dewey's  fleet,  and  the  chunk 

of  the  side  wheel  boats 
Have  passed  to  the  memory  of  youthful  days,  like  the  yells 

that  stick  in  our  throats! 

You'll  find  the  rifles  in  the  junk  piles  now,  along  w4th 

the  haversacks; 
And  the  sentries'  paths  are  grown  with  weeds  while  the 

field  guns  rust  in  stacks. 
Beyond  the  trenches  of  North  Luzon  w^here  we  laid  our 

dead  in  rows 
We've  scrubbed  off  the  mud  and  rubbed  in  the  blood  'till 

only  a  faint  stain  shows! 

There  were  no  crowds  with  their  wild  applause,  or  music 

to  cheer  our  souls; 
And  the  cables  that  sang  of  our  deeds  of  war  have  yielded 

no  peace-time  tolls; 
We  worked  without  hope  of  glory  or  gold  —  and  we've 

seen  our  dreams  come  true: 
And  we  boast  —  not  what  we  came  here  for  —  but  the 

work  that  we  staid  to  do ! 

We  gave  the  golden  years  of  our  youth  and  we're  proud 

of  the  sacrifice  — 
For  over  the  ruin  our  own  hands  wrought  we  have  seen 

this  miracle  rise; 

43 


THE  CITY  THAT  SERVED 

So  it's  ours  to  present,  with  a  pardonable  pride,  as  we  sit 

at  our  well-earned  ease: 
The  Queen  of  the  lower  tier  of  the  world,  and  the  pearl 

of  the  Southern  Seas!  " 


44 


OFFICER  — AND  GENTLEMAN 

OH,  they  die  for  the  good  of  the  service,  or  they  live 
{on  a  laborer  s  pcty!) 
And  they  must  go  in  a  gentleman  s  style,  or  live  in  a  gen- 
teel way  — 

Stand  up! 

"  Officers! 

Gentlemen!  " 
Young  they  come  to  the  colors;  aye,  young,  and  hearts  so 

brave  — 
And  the  years  sit  light  to  the  last  long  fight,  and  old  they 
pass  to  the  grave! 

Perhaps  his  mother's  kisses  haven't  dried  upon  his  lips; 

Perhaps  he  kneels  and  prays  on  going  to  bed. 
Perhaps  he's  tender-footed,  but  I've  seen  him  firmly  rooted 

And  bossing  a  command  that's  mostly  dead. 

Perhaps  he  joined  the  service  from  a  job  in  civil  life; 

Perhaps  he  rose,  by  working,  from  the  ranks. 
Perhaps  he  came  from  college,  very  shy  on  army  knowl- 
edge — 

But  he  learns  his  lessons  over  and  gives  thanks. 

Perhaps  they've  made  his  path  a  little  rough 
By  ragging  him  a  trifle  now  and  then. 

45 


OFFICER  — AND  GENTLEMAN 

But  when  It  comes  to  fighting  and  the  bullets  get  to  biting, 
You'll  see  him  giving  lessons  to  his  men. 

Perhaps  he's  been  a  captain  for  the  half  his  service  life, 
And  beardless  kids  have  jumped  him  many  grades. 

Perhaps  he's  disappointed  and  his  temper's  out-of-jolnted. 
As  men  must  get  when  pay  and  prospect  fades. 

Perhaps  he's  many  years  of  service  In; 

(He  started  with  the  war  of  Sixty-Two;) 
Perhaps  they've  made  him  bitter,  but  they  haven't  made 
a  quitter 
While  there's  a  job  of  fighting  left  to  do  — 
Stand  up! 

"  Officers! 

Gentlemen!  " 
Oh,  you'll  die  for  the  good  of  the  service;  but  live  in  a 

gentleman's  way; 
And  after  awhile,  in  a  gentleman's  style,  you'll  draw  a 

gentleman  s  pay. 
Young  you  come  to  the  colors,  and  old  you'll  pass  to  the 

grave  — 
An  epitaph  ''In  Duty's  Path,"  and  ''All  He  Had  He 
Gave." 


46 


NOSTALGIA 

T  'VE  dreamed  o'  seas  o'  silver  where  the  war  boats  lie 
-*-  asleep ; 

O'  rivers  like  broad  ribbons  strung  so  gay  acrost  the 
land. 
I've  seen  the  hill-locked  harbors  where  the  cascoes  slowly 
creep, 
An'  heard  the  voice  o'  wimmin'  sayin'  words  I  under- 
stand. 

I've  heard  the  gals  a-poundin'  rice  wit'  thumps  like  far- 
off  guns; 
The  caraboa  tramp   through  me  dreams  In  sheets  o' 
slantin'  rain; 
I  see  the  lights  spring  up  acrost  the  fields  like  dinky  suns 
An'  heard  the  tinkle  o'  guitars  that  gives  me  heart  a 
pain. 

I  dream  o'  ole  Manila  town  a-squattin'  by  the  Bay; 
I've  smelled   the  fresh-sea  breezes  an'   the  perfume  o' 
the  hills; 
I've  seen  the  Paslg  river  wit'  the  gugu  kids  at  play 
An'  I've  awakened  very  tired  from  dream-time  thrills 
an'  drills! 

47 


NOSTALGIA 

Oh,  I've  been  honin'  for  to  see  the  soft-eyed  mornin's  lift 
Like  filmy  curtains  o'er  the  rice  an'  hear  the  wind  sing 
low; 
To  see  the  dew-soaked  flowers  an'  to  feel  God's  gracious 
gift 
O'  life  to  me  an'  everything  that  wants  to  live  an' 
grow! 

Me  nose  is  filled  wit'  perfume  an'  me  heart  wit'  vague 
regret  — 
I'm    longin'    for    the    southern    skies  —  for    Leyte    an' 
Cebu ; 
I'd  love  to  see  them  Moro  folks  an'  have  a  little  sweat 
A-steppin'  off  a  sentry  path  an'  kiddin'  gals  I  knew! 

I  wake  at  night  an'  think  I've  felt  me  bunkie  kick  me 
slats ; 
I  dream  o'  runnin'  guard  lines  an'  o'  days  o'  fight  an' 
fun; 
I  don't  recall  no  weary  hours  on  outpost  battin'  gnats  — 
But  bless  me  boots  an'  body  'cause  me  days  o'  that  are 
done ! 

Aye,  bless  me  sister's  ole  black  cat,  I  reads  to-day  wit' 

joy  — 

The  army's  got  its  quota  an'  it  don't  need  any  more ; 
An'  let  me  tell  you  why  that  tickles  Mrs.  Casey's  boy: 
I've   been    a-hangin'    down    around   the   'cruitin'    office 
door! 

48 


THE  MORO  MAN 

TH'  Moro  Is  a  cur'ous  bug,  a  cur'ous  bug  Is  he; 
He  builds  his  house  on  little  stilts  out  o'  a  bam- 
boo tree; 
An'  when  he's  tired  o'  llvin'  there  an'  wants  ter  move 

his  shack 
He  makes  his  wife  put  down  her  wash  an'  moves  It  on 
her  back! 

Chorus 

But  you  mustn't  hurt  th'  Moro,  boys, 

Or  take  away  his  gun; 
For  If  you  do  you'll  surely  hear 

From  'em  at  Washington. 
You  mustn't  hurt  th'  Moro,  boys; 

He's  jes'  a  little  wild. 
Oh,  treat  th'  Moro  gently,  boys. 

He's  Uncle  Sammy's  child! 

Th'  Moro  Is  a  cheerful  cuss ;  he  never  works  at  all ; 

He  sits  an'  smokes  a  cigarette  from  springtime  Into  fall; 

He    ain't    so    fond    o'    cleanliness  —  he    ruther    likes    th' 

dirt  — 
An'  all  th'  clo'es  he  has  ter  wear  Is  jes'  a  little  shirt! 

49 


THE  MORO  MAN 

Th'  Moro  is  a  peaceful  cuss ;  he  never  likes  ter  fight  — 
''  Barai!  '*  is  th'  Moro's  word  from  mornin'  until  night. 
He  likes  ter  take  a  shot  at  us  but  jes'  for  practice  sake  — 
Oh,  do  not  hurt  th'   Moro,   boys;  you  might  keep  him 
awake ! 

Th'  Moro  is  a  funny  cuss,  for  when  we  gits  our  pay 
He  sells  us  anything  he's  got  —  an'  steals  it  right  away. 
He  pots  us  from  th'  underbrush  or  whacks  us  with  a 

knife  — 
But  you  mustn't  hurt  th'  Moro,  boys,  his  children  or  his 

wife! 

Th'  Moro  is  a  friendly  cuss ;  it's  jes'  his  little  way 

Ter  shoot  at  us  through  half  th'  night  —  an'  ginur'ly  all 

day; 
We  catch  him  after  chasin'  him  until  we  a'most  faint; 
He's  friendly  then  till  next  day  when  th'  chances  is  he 

ain't ! 

Chorus 
Oh,  do  not  hurt  th'  Moro,  boys; 

He's  Uncle  Sammy's  child; 
An'  when  you  speak  be  sure  your  tones 

Are  soft  an'  low  an'  mild ; 
Oh,  do  not  mind  his  knife,  my  boys; 

He's  jes'  a  little  riled ; 
An'  do  not  hurt  th'  Moro,  boys  — 

He's  Uncle  Sammy's  child ! 
50 


SENTRY-GO 

^^   T  LOVE  a  gu-r-r-r-l;  a  dear  leetle  gu-r-r-r-l 
J-       She's  all  this  wo-r-r-r-ld  ter  me!  " 

Fat-eyed  idol,  slobberln'  tears, 

Settin'  by  th'  Peek-In  wall; 
Gazin'  down  th'  empty  years  — 

Nary  brains  in  you  a-tall ! 
Fat-eyed  idol  tell  ter  me  — 

Private  Jenks  from  Kansas  state  — 
What  th'  dickens  do  you  see? 

How  much  longer  will  you  wait? 

Fat-eyed  idol  'f  I  wuz  you  — 

You  wuz  me  an'  things  wuz  so  — 
Know  th'  fust  thing  I  would  do? 

Betcher  life  I'd  up  an'  go! 
Betcher  life  I'd  hurry  back  — 

Back  ter  Kansas  on  th'  Kaw  — 
Fat-eyed  Idol,  fer  a  fack, 

Best  ole  place  you  ever  saw! 

Sun  a-shlnin'  there  right  now 

On  them  fields  o'  wavin'  corn  — 

Say!     It's  life  behind  a  plow 
Waltin'  fer  th'  dinner  horn ! 
51 


SENTRY— GO 

Work  Is  only  sorter  play  — 
Ain't  no  walkin'  post  at  night, 

Hearin'  sounds  ter  make  you  gray 
No  one  lookln'  fer  a  fight! 

Fat-eyed  Idol,  settin'  there 

Warpin'  In  this  heathen  sun; 
Don't  suppose  you  even  care  — 

Heck!     You  never  have  no  fun! 
Never  stirrin'  from  yer  seat 

While  th'  heathens  come  an'  go  — 
Floppin'  at  yer  pagan  feet  — 

Fat-eyed  Idol  you  are  slow^! 

Fat-eyed  Idol,  you  don't  know 
What  Is  love  a  single  lick; 

I  w^uz  Ina  Sawyer's  beau  — 
Ina  lives  acrost  th'  crick. 

When  I  whistled  Sunday  nights 
She  would  meet  me  an'  we'd  go 

Walkin'  where  there  warn't  no  lights 
Fat-eyed  Idol,  you  don't  know! 

Fat-eyed  Idol,  slobberin'  tears  — 
Settin'  by  th'  Peek-In  wall  — 

Dry  yer  eyes  an'  wag  yer  ears. 
You  ain't  got  no  grief  a-tall! 
52 


SENTRY  — GO 

Think  o'  me  from  Kansas  state! 

Grief?     W'y  say,  my  name  is  Grief! 
Fat-eyed  idol,  you  kin  wait  — 

Here  comes  Private  Jenk's  relief! 

/  love  a  gu-r-r-r-l;  a  dear  leetle  gu-r-r-r-l 
She's  all  this  wo-r-r-r-ld  ter  me!  " 


53 


FIRST  — AND  LAST 

WHEN   th'   lean  line  crouched   for  th'   final  charge 
Then  I  seen  his  gills  turn  blue; 
An'  I  seen  him  blink  an'  I  seen  him  shrink  — 

But  wot  kin  a  sergeant  do? 
Oh,  I  heard  him  wheeze  at  th'  bullets'  sneeze, 

An'  I  seen  him  dodgin'  too; 
His  face  wuz  old  an'  his  feet  wuz  cold  — 
But  wot  kin  a  sergeant  do? 

Then  it's  ''Skirmishers,  forward!" 

An'  th'  guide  is  right  — 
Oh,  th'  bugle's  callin',  callin'. 
Then:  "  Steady  on  th'  left  — an'  start  th'  fight!  " 
"  Oh,  who's  that  fallin',  fallin'?  " 

"  Comp'ny  —  halt !     Lie  —  down !  " 

When  th'  word  come  down  an'  we  had  to  go, 

An'  th'  fightin'  line  drove  through; 
Oh,  I  see  him  stop,  an'  I  see  him  drop  — 

But  wot  kin  a  sergeant  do? 
I  used  th'  boot  an'  I  told  him  shoot  — 

(An'  he  shot  th'  best  he  knew;) 
If  his  aim  wuz  bad,  oh,  his  heart  wuz  sad  — 

But  wot  kin  a  sergeant  do? 

54 


FIRST  — AND  LAST 

Then  It's:  "Load!"  an'  "Fire!" 

An'  th'  range  is  long; 
But  th'  haze  is  driftin',  driftin'. 

It's  "  Steady  that  left  —  an'  keep  it  —  strong!  " 
An'  th'  light  is  siftin',  liftin'. 

"  Comp'ny  —  rise!     'Vance  by  rushes!  " 

When  th'  lean  line  stopped  from  th'  final  charge 

I  seen  him  —  gills  turned  blue! 
For  there  he  lay  on  th'  wicked  day  — 

But  wot  kin  a  sergeant  do? 
(Boo-hoo!) 
Oh,  he  did  his  best,  an'  he  got  his  rest  — 

An'  I've  told  you  all  I  knew; 
They  said:  "  How  brave!  "  as  we  dug  his  grave  — 

An'  wot  kin  a  sergeant  do? 

Then  it's  volleys  three  — 

An'  spade  him  in ! 
Oh,  th'  bugle's  sighin',  sighin'. 

He'll  never  see  parade  agin  — 
An*  a  rooky's  cryin',  cryin'. 

"  Comp'ny  —  'tention !     Stack  —  arms !  " 


55 


GOING  AND  COMING 

WHEN  we  went  to  Marishoa,  warn't  we  feelin'  gay, 
Slippin'   'long  th'   dusty  road  an'  singin'  on  th' 
way; 
When  we  went  to  Marishoa,  warn't  we  feelin'  fine  — 
Eighty  hoss,  two  hundred  foot  an'  field  guns  in  th'  line: 
(Marishoa  is  up  a  hill  — 
Marishoa  is  up  there  still  —  ) 
'Ray!     We  went  to  Marishoa  feelin'  pretty  fine! 

When  we  came  from  Marishoa,  bringin'  o'  our  dead, 
Heads  a-hangin'  heavy  an'  our  hearts  as  chunks  o'  lead; 
When  we  come  from  Marishoa,  not  a  song  wuz  heard  — 
Not  a  smilin'  face  we  brought,  not  a  cheerin'  word  — 

(Marishoa  is  up  a  hill  — 

Marishoa  is  up  there  still  —  ) 
An'  we  left  'em  layin'  there  with  th'  Chaplain's  Word  I 


'{S 


THE  REAR  GUARD 

OH,  we're  only  a  part  o'  th'  Rear  Guard, 
We're  only  th'  column's  tail; 
They  don't  slap  our  backs  when  we  checks  th'  attacks 

But  they  give  us  th'  deuce  if  we  fail. 
We're  not  to  be  figgered  in  action; 

It  gets  us  no  credit  to  fight ; 
We're  back  o'  th'  crushes  to  stop  th'  rear  rushes 
An'  stand  on  th'  outposts  all  night. 

Chorus 
Oh,  who  would  belong  to  th'  Rear  Guard, 

Th'  Rear  Guard,  th'  Rear  Guard? 
Oh,  who  would  belong  to  th'  Rear  Guard 

When  they  could  be  out  in  th'  fight? 

We're  wearin'  no  medals  o'  Honor, 

Our  lot  is  to  march  in  th'  rear; 
An'  when  there  is  trouble  to  do  duty  double 

An'  echo  th'  fightin'  line's  cheer. 
Oh!  We're  only  a  part  o'  th'  Rear  Guard 

A  mile  from  th'  Hero  Advance  — 
We  leave  a  few  dead  but  th'  fightin's  ahead 

An'  our  dead  ones  are  only  "  a  chance." 

57 


THE  REAR  GUARD 

Chorus 
Oh,  who  would  belong,  etc. 

Yes,  we're  only  a  part  o'  th'  Rear  Guard, 

Our  duty's  to  watch  an'  to  wait; 
Oh,  our  duty's  behind  an'  we  mustn't  go  blind, 

An'  never  must  waken  too  late. 
We  march  an'  we  sweat  uncomplainin', 

We  echo  th'  fightin'  line's  cheer  — 
We  march  at  a  ''  ready  "  an'  holds  our  own  steady 

When  trouble  breaks  out  in  th'  rear. 

Chorus 
Oh,  who  would  belong,  etc. 


58 


DATTO  JAN 

YER  a  charmln'  sort  o'  critter, 
Datto  Jan. 
Though   you   looks   on   us   quite   bitter 

Datto  Jan. 
Our  religion  ain't  th'  same 
An'  our  war's  a  different  game  — 
But  we've  got  you  for  to  tame 
Datto  Jan. 

Chorus 
Datto  Jan,  oh,  Datto  Jan,  you  may  snipe  us  when  you  can 
But  you  wouldn't  be  so  bitter  if  you'd  only  understan'. 
Though  you  hide  out  in  th'  grass  jest  to  stick  us  as  we 

pass. 
We  still  looks  on  you  some  lovin',  Datto  Jan. 

Oh,  we  piles  you  up  w^ith  tracts, 

Datto  Jan. 
An'  we  piles  you  up  in  stacks, 

Datto  Jan. 
An'  that  ain't  all  yer  to  get, 
Fer  we'll  'similate  you  yet, 
An'  we'll  also  make  you  sweat, 

Datto  Jan. 
59 


DATTO  JAN 

Chorus 
Datto  Jan,  oh,  Datto  Jan,  yer  a  mos'  peculiar  man, 
You  had  better  get  religion  er  we'll  keep  you  In  th'  pan ; 
You  can't  mind  yer  own  affairs,  so  we'll  help  you  out  on 

shares  ; 
You  will  hafter  see  it  our  way,  Datto  Jan. 

You  have  got  too  many  wives, 

Datto  Jan. 
More'n  mos'  folks  in  their  lives, 

Datto  Jan. 
An'  yer  friends  back  in  th'  States 
Hears  them  things  wot  we  relates  — 
Makes  'em  sorry  fer  yer  mates, 

Datto  Jan. 

Chorus 
Datto  Jan,  oh,  Datto  Jan,  you  will  hafter  understan' 
That  you  can't  be  doin'  business  here  upon  th'  Mormon 

plan. 
Yer   contentment   with   yer   lot   makes   them   state    folks 

sum'at  hot, 
An'  p'raps  they're  likewise  jealous,  Datto  Jan. 

Oh,  we  knows  you  hates  our  flag, 

Datto  Jan. 
So  we  hunts  you  with  a  Krag, 

Datto  Jan. 
60 


DATTO  JAN 

Though  you  hides  out  alone 
Out  o'  Uncle  Sammy's  zone 
We  still  claims  you  fer  our  own, 
Datto  Jan. 

Chorus 
Datto  Jan,  oh,  Datto  Jan,  yer  a  man  wot's  got  some  sand, 
An'  you  orter  hear  'em  pray  fer  you  in  Uncle  Sammy's 

land. 
Oh,   they'll  show  you  at  th'   fairs  an'  they'll  double  up 

them  prayers 
While  we  chases  you  with  guns,  Datto  Jan. 

Don't  you  tells  us  wot  you  need, 

Datto  Jan. 
With  yer  morals  run  to  seed, 

Datto  Jan. 
Fer  we'll  send  school  ma'ams  galore  — 
yizxry  'em  an'  send  some  more. 
Don't  ferget  we've  got  a  store, 

Datto  Jan. 

Chorus 
Datto  Jan,  oh,  Datto  Jan,  you  will  hafter  understan' 
That  you  ain't  a  Moro  any  more  but  a  American. 
You  mus'  learn  how  to  behave  er  we'll  shove  you  in  a 

grave. 
An'  there  ain't  no  use  in  kickin',  Datto  Jan. 

6i 


o 


EYES  O'  THE  ARMY'' 

SCOUTS 

H,  it's  us  that  says  no  partin' 

When  th'  flyfn'  column's  startin'; 
It's  us  that  speaks  no  bye-byes  to  th'  fellers  on  th'  road.. 
Oh,  it's  us  that  moves  in  quiet 
Findin'  death  an'  slidin'  by  it ; 
For  silence  is  th'  watchword  where  th'  gapin'  graves  are 
sowed. 

Oh,  it's  us  that  does  no  shoutin' ; 

(There's  no  chargin'  when  you're  scoutin')  ; 
It's  us  that  looks  a  mile  ahead  an'  sees  a  mile  behind. 

Oh,  it's  us  that  does  no  shootin' 

But  we  keeps  th'  distance  scootin' ; 
It's  us  they  calls  th'   army's  eyes,   but   mostly  we're  its 
mind. 

It's  us  that's  made  o'  leather 
Ridin'  lighter  than  a  feather; 
It's  us  that's  shy  o'  clothin'   and   it's  us  that's  short  o" 
chuck. 
Oh,  it's  us  that  never  lingers. 
An'  it's  us  who  speaks  by  fingers  — 
It's  us  that  sees  th'  bullets  an'  it's  us  that's  trained  to  duck. 

62 


"EYES  O'  THE  ARMY'' 

It's  us  who  live  astraddle, 

(Grabbin'  all  our  sleep  In  saddle)  ; 
It's  us  that's  just  ahead  o'  night  an'  in  advance  o'  day. 

Oh,  it's  us  who  do  th'  lookin' 

An'  th'  fightin'  dates  a-bookin'  — 
Oh,  it's  us  who  die  in  whispers  not  to  give  our  moves 
away. 


63 


TO  THE  COLORS 

IT  isn't  on  th'  firin'  line  you  feel  th'  battle  thrill, 
An'  It  Isn't  dodgin'  bullets  wot  you  know  are  meant 
to  kill; 
An'  It  Isn't  when  the  bandmen  play  some  patriotic  air 
That  you  feel  th'  fever  In  yer  blood  an'  wanter  rip  an' 

tear  — 
But  let  th'  ole  familiar  break  come  In  th'  tune  they  play; 
A  silence  for  a  moment  an'  you  hear  th'  captain  say: 
"Port  Arms!"   an'   then    th'   air   Is   split   as   though   by 

shrapnel  shell  — 
"  To  th'  colors!  "  sing  th'  bugles  an'  It's  then  you  wanter 
yell ! 

Some  strange  sensation  'pears  to  lurk  In  them  short  jerky 
notes ; 

A  funny  kind  o'  feelln'  brings  th'  cheer  Inter  yer  throats; 

It's  a  fighty  kind  o'  music  an'  we'd  tackle  all  th'  world 

When  th'  bugles  give  us  notice  that  th'  flag  has  been  un- 
furled ; 

When  th'  band  has  stopped  a  moment  an'  when  every- 
thing Is  still 

Except  th'  sound  o'  scrapin'  feet  —  then  comes  th'  bat- 
tle thrill  — 

When  th'  bugles,  soft  beginnin'  —  but  th'  notes  take  up 
th'  swell  — 

A-singIn'  "  To  th'  colors!  "  an'  It's  then  you  wanter  yell! 

64 


A  SONG  FROM  SULU 

^T  7ITH  a  bolo  knife  an'  a  great  big  kreese 

^  ^        An'  a  rifle  shinin'  new; 

Th'  Moro  he  goes  huntin'  Peace 

An'  a  soldier  boy  or  two  — 

(He  likes  'em  best  by  two!) 

Oh,  he  warshes  clean  an'  he  chants  a  prayer, 

An'  he  sings  his  do-se-do; 
Then  he  starts  off  on  a  howlin'  tear 

An'  he  heads  for  Soldiers'  Row  — 

(He  likes  that  Soldiers'  Row!) 

You  outs  with  a  gun  an'  shoots  him  through, 

But  he  only  waves  his  kreese; 
He  never  minds  a  shot  or  two 

When  he  is  huntin'  Peace  — 

(He  loves  that  quiet  Peace!) 

Oh,  he  slashes  through  a  company 
Like  he  was  cuttin'  cheese; 

Th'  capting  sez  consolingly 

"  Don't  hurt  him,  if  you  please!  " 
("He's  harmless,  if  you  please!") 

65 


A  SONG  FROM  SULU 

He  sez  he's  harmless,  if  you  please, 

As  he  goes  carvin'  through; 
Before  you've  had  th'  time  to  sneeze 

He's  got  an  ear  or  two; 

(He  likes  'em  best  by  two!) 

With  his  bolo  knife  an'  a  great  big  kreese 
An'  a  rifle  shinin'  new  — 

Oh,  give  th'  gentle  Moro  Peace 
As  he  goes  slashin'  through  — 
(He'll  fight  unless  you  do!) 


66 


CHRISTMAS  IN  SAMAR 

T'D  like  to  see  th'   fellers  sittin'   'round  Bill  Mason's 
■■■         store, 
A-swappin'  lies  an'  tellln'  yarns  to  fairly  make  you  roar. 

I'd  like  to  see  'em  sittin' 

Discussin'  an'  a-spittin' 
Terbacky  juice  upon  th'  stove  an'  also  on  th'  floor. 

Hey! 

Say! 
I  guess  you  never  sot  around  an'  tole  them  lies  galore! 

rd  like  to  see  th'  snow  a-driftin'  through  th'  ghosty  trees 
A-bringin'    word    o'    Sandy    Claws    on    every    crimpy 
breeze. 

I'd  like  to  hear  'er  blowin', 
I'd  like  to  see  'er  snowin' 
'Till  all  th'  drifts  an'  medder  lanes  is  filled  up  to  th' 
knees ; 

Hey! 
Say! 
An'  gittin'  cold  an'  colder  'till  yer  marrer's  like  to  freeze! 

I'd  like  to  see  th'  folks  all  gathered  sittin'  down  to  eat  — 
Oh!  Wouldn't  I  jest  like  to  be  a-holdin'  down  a  seat! 

67 


CHRISTMAS  IN  SAMAR 

A-hearin'  o'   th'  blessin', 

Then  stuffin'  turk  an'  dressin'  — 
An'  toppin'  off  with  punkin  pie  an'  apple  cider  sweet! 

Hey! 

Say! 
My  mother's  golden  punkin  pies  hev  never  yet  been  beat! 

I'd  like  to  see  ole  Paw^  an'  Maw  an'  Sister  an'  th'  rest  — 
An'  Emmy  Marthy  Martin,  y-e-s,  I'd  like  to  see  her 
best. 

I'd  like  to  see  her  smilin', 
I'd  like  to  go  a-pilin' 
With   her   a-huntin'   through   th'   barn,   pretendin'    for   a 
nest! 

Hey! 
Say! 
It  is  that  Emmy  Martin,  but  I  wonder  how  you  guessed ! 

I'd  like  to  see  some  country  where  th'  sun   don't  alius 
shine ; 
I'd  like  to  be  a  million  miles  from  off  th'  firin'  line; 
Where  th'  sun  ain't  alius  hot 
An'  no  one's  never  shot  — 
An'  niggers  ain't  a-layin'  'round  to  split  you  up  th'  spine. 
Hey! 
Say! 
Them  ain't  no  tears,  gol  durn  it  all;  don't  think  you've 
ketched  me  cryin' ! 

68 


o 


WHEN  GOD  FORGOT 

NCT  God  forgot  a  moment  an'  left  th'  lid  off  Hell, 
And  th'  Nineteenth  Horse  jest  a  foot  away  in  ra- 
dius o'   th'  smell. 
'Twuz  up  in  front  o'  Baliuag  * 
Where  we  w^uz  mired  in  Death's  black  bog, 
An'  them  fumes  from  Hell  raised  quite  a  fog  — 
(Which  wuz  bad  for  th'  Nineteenth  Horse.) 

From  left  to  right  ole  Del  Pilar  wuz  closin'  his  forces  in ; 
An'   we  wuz   jest   a-w-aitin'    there    for   our   slaughter   to 
begin ; 
We'd  bit  off  more'n  we  could  chew. 
An'  didn't  know  zackly  what  to  do, 
An'  things  wuz  lookin'  mighty  blue 
For  the  good  ole  Nineteenth  Horse. 

Ammunition  almost  out,  an'  men  a-goin'  fast ; 

A  mortal  cinch  it  wuz  to  all  that  we  weren't  long  to  last. 
Left  to  right  'twuz  poppety-pop, 
Th'  gun-bolts  goin'  choppety-chop ; 
An'  every  time  some  un'd  drop  — 
(Which  w^uz  bad  for  th'  Nineteenth  Horse.) 

Say!  Have  you  ever  shaken  hands  an'  said  "good  day" 
to  death? 
*  Pronounced  "  Bally-wog." 

69 


WHEN  GOD  FORGOT 

Have  you  ever  been  so  clost  to  Hell  you  smelt  th'  sulphur 
breath  ? 
Heard  yer  requiem  in  th'  air? 
Breezes  singin'  yer  funeral  prayer? 
Say!  Have  you  ever  yet  been  there? 
Th'  same  as  the  Nineteenth   Horse? 

Why,  Death  seemed  so  darned  neighborly  we  almost  had 

to  grin; 
No  reinforcements  in  twenty  miles  an'  Pilar  closin'  in; 
An'  our  nerve  had  busted  under  th'  load, 
Quit  like  a  balkin'  mule'n  th'  road; 
Laid  there,  jest  as  if  we'd  growed, 
Did  th'  good  ole  Nineteenth  Horse. 

Sudden  some  one  off  to  th'  left  started  in  for  to  sing; 
A  tenor  voice  a-risin'  out  above  th'  bullets'  zing. 

"Nearer  My  God  to  Thee,"  th'  air; 

A  tenor  voice  so  rich  an'  rare, 

Singin'  as  if  without  a  care, 
On  th'  left  o'  th'  Nineteenth  Horse. 

A  rooky  kid  it  wuz  that  sang,  a  delicate  white-faced  lad; 
Scared   he  wuz   when   th'    firin'   broke,    an'   scared   mos' 
fearful  bad. 
Sang,  I  guess,  to  drown  his  fears. 
Sang  to  keep  back  frightened  tears. 
An'  singin'  scares  fright  better'n  cheers  — 
(As  is  proved  in  th'  Nineteenth  Horse.) 

70 


WHEN  GOD  FORGOT 

Even  th'  firln'  out  in  front  died  away  at  the  air, 
An'  all  th'  fellers  half  raised  up  to  listen  an'  to  stare. 
Louder  still  them  sweet  tones  rang  — 
*'  E'en  though  it  be  a  cross,"  he  sang; 
An'  every  feller  felt  a  pang  — 
(Which  wuz  strange  for  th'  Nineteenth  Horse.) 

Then   somehow  some   one   else  joined   in,   an'   somehow, 

one  by  one, 
Th'  whole  blamed  line  had  took  it  up  before  th'  song 
wuz  done. 
Tough  ole  cusses  there  I  see 
Singin'  —  each  in  a  different  key  — 
An'  a  bum  note  sounded  some  like  me  — 
(That's    a  joke  in  th'  Nineteenth  Horse.) 

Now,   somehow  that  ole  homely  hymn   give  us  a  battle 

thrill; 
An'  some  one  yelled :  "  Come  on,  you  men,  there's  some 
fight  in  you  still !  " 
Out  we  doubled  on  th'  jump, 
Shootin'  fast  as  we  could  pump ; 
An'  Pilar's  nerve  took  quite  a  slump  — 
(Which  wuz  good  for  th'  Nineteenth  Horse!) 

I  never  have  eggzackly  heard  jest  what  ole  Pilar  thought; 
But  if  his  men  don't  know  no  hymns,  by  grab,  it's  time 
they  ought! 

71 


WHEN  GOD  FORGOT 

We   made   their   holes   almighty   hot; 
An'  left  a  few  o'  them  to  rot, 
An'  chast  th'  rest  around  a  lot  — 
(In  th'  style  o'  th'  Nineteenth  Horse!) 

Now,  we  thought,  you  see,  God  had  forgot  an'  left  th' 

lid  off  Hell, 
An'  that  is  th'  time  th'  Nineteenth  Horse  got  a  whiff  o'  th' 
sulphur   smell. 
But  we  found  His  'tention  still  on  us, 
An'  He  helped  us  out  in  that  little  fuss  — 
Else  they'd  a-been  a  fearful  muss 
O'  th'  good  ole  Nineteenth  Horse. 


72 


THE  TRUST  OF  THE  YELLOW  MAN 

J^/Z)  you  never  hear  o""  th'  Yellow  Man  an    th'  trust 
J^     o'  th'  Yellow  Man'? 
An    th'  shame  that  came  to  ole  C  Troop  from  th'  blow 

o'  a  Yellow  Hand? 
Listen,  an    you   can   understand  th'  soldiers'   ban  on  th' 

Yellow  Man  — 
Hark   an    heed   th'  squad  room   tale   o'   th'   trust   o'   th' 

Yellow  Man! 

Up  where  ole  Mount  Yako  tears  a  hole  in  th'  azure  sky, 
Where  you  hangs  yerself  on  th'  edge  o'  a  cloud  to  keep 

yer  clothin'  dry; 
Up  on  th'  eyebrow  o'   that  hill  where  th'   golden  eagle 

wheels 
Fled  th'  ladrone  Maximo,  an'  we  rode  at  his  heels. 
For  a  feller  down  in  Washington  — 
(A  kind  of  an  idiot  son-of-a-gun  — ) 
Had  said  that  C  troop  was  th'  one 
To  stick  to  Maximo 's  heels. 

Now  onct  when  we  wuz  in  barracks  an'  a  Portugee  sailor 

chap 
Wuz   abusin'    a    Chinese   coolie,   with   many   a   kick   an' 

slap  — 

73 


THE  TRUST  OF  THE  YELLOW  MAN 

Just  a  miserable  coolie ;  an'  our  anger  rlz  at  th'  sight  — 
So  we  took  th'  part  o'  th'  Yellow  Man  an'  he  turned 
an'  made  a  fight. 

Now  a  Yellow  Man  ain't  like  a  white, 
For  he's  easier  to  yield  to  might  — 
But  his  teeth  has  got  a  nasty  bite 
When  he  turns  an'  makes  a  fight. 


An'  only  by  words  we  urged  him  on  but  words  give  lots 

o'  cheer; 
An'  th'  Yellow  Man's  fight  filled  th'   Portugee's  heart 

with  a  chillin'  cowardly  fear; 
Then  th'  Yellow  Man  grinned  his  thanks  to  us;  went 

grinnin'  on  his  way  — 
An'  we  all  forgot  th'  Yellow  Man  until  that  later  day  — 
Th'  day  that's  written  for  us  in  red ; 
Th'  day  th'  army  speaks  with  dread ; 
Th'  day  we  counted  by  scores  our  dead  — 
An'  that  wuz  th'  Yellow  Man's  day! 

Up  we  climbed  on  Yako,  scared  eagles  takin'  wing; 

Up,  up,  until  we  almost  thought  we'd  hear  th'  angels 
sing; 

An'  when  we  wuz  near  th'  top  o'  th'  peak  an'  th'  Prov- 
ince o'  Sulucan 

Spread  like  a  map  beneath  our  feet  we  came  on  th'  Yellow 
Man. 

74 


THE  TRUST  OF  THE  YELLOW  MAN 

Face  he  had  like  a  skeleton's  head; 
Starved  an'  frightened,  nearly  dead ; 
Eyin'  us  in  nervous  dread 

Was  th'  miserable  Yellow  Man. 

A  coolie  he'd  been  for  Maximo;  in  heathen  signs  he  told 
How  he'd  been  robbed  by  the  ladrone  chief  of  a  scanty 

store  o'  gold ; 
Robbed  to  his  very  sandals  an'  left  on  th'  trail  to  die  — 
We  trusted  his  monkeyish  yellow  face  as  he  told  us  his 
yellow  lie. 

Robbed  by  Maximo,  he  said; 
Robbed   an'   beaten ;   left   for   dead  — 
Prayed  for  mercy;  prayed  for  bread  — 
As  he  told  us  his  yellow  lie. 

We  give  him  half  o'  what  we  had,  an'  we  didn't  have 

much  to  give; 
But  we  figgered  that  even  a  Yellow  Man  has  got  some 

right  to  live. 
An'  he  showed  us  welts  where  Maximo's  whip  had  left 

his  hide  blood  red  — 
An'  called  in  his  heathen  lingo  his  curse  on  the  ladrone's 
head. 

Signed  that  he  would  show  us  where 
Maximo  had  his  robber  lair; 
An'  we  didn't  doubt  him,  not  a  hair  — 
Our  curse  on  his  yellow  head ! 
75 


THE  TRUST  OF  THE  YELLOW  MAN 

Twenty  miles,  said  th'  Yellow  Man,  just  twenty  miles 

to  go, 
An'  not  th'   slightest  danger  in  th'  way  that  he  would 

show; 
An'  louder  still  he  made  his  prayer  for  revenge  on  th' 

robber  band  — 
(Now  this  is  th'  way  o'  th'  shame  that  came  from  th' 
blow  o'  a  Yellow  Hand!) 

Twenty  miles  wuz  what  he  said ; 
Twenty  miles,  by  Joss'  head  — 
An'  so  w^e  follered  where  he  led  — 
Follered  th'  Yellow  Man. 

All  day  long  we  pounded  on  through  th'   mountains  o' 

Sulucan ; 
All  day  long  we  follered  on  in  th'  wake  o'  th'  Yellow 

Man. 
An'  he  grinned  his  gratitude  to  us  an'  we  grinned  back 

at  him, 
Suggestin'  plans  for  th'  robbers'  fate  in  a  manner  ruther 
grim; 

An'  everyone  looked  to  his  cartridge  belt  — 
For  even  th'  rooky  troopers  felt 
That  a  tellin'  blow  would  soon  be  dealt  — 
An'  th'  ladrones  chance  wuz  slim. 

An'  we  wuz  deaf  to  our  trainin's  wisdom,  an'  blind  to 
our  years  o'  sight  — 

76 


THE  TRUST  OF  THE  YELLOW  MAN 

That  he  who  trusts  in  a  Yellow  Man  shall  know  a  Yel- 
low Blight; 
But  on  we  spurred  our  hosses  through  th'  mountains  o' 

Sulucan  — 
Follerin'   up  an'   follerin'  on  in  th'  wake  o'   th'  Yellow 
Man. 

Climbin'  up  on  crag  an'  knob  — 
A  slippin',   swearin',  sweatin'  mob  — 
An'  th'  tired  rookies  'd  almost  sob 
As  we  foUered  th'  Yellow  Man. 

An'  just  as  night  wuz  closin'  in  we  rode  through  a  river 

bed, 
An'   th'   Yellow  Man  seemed  to  vanish   in  th'   darkness 

out  ahead ; 
An'  then  an'  only  then  it  wuz  we  knew  that  we'd  been 

trapped  — 
For  it  seemed  that  Hell  had  opened  an'  a  thousand  fire- 
bolts  snapped. 

Then  we  knew  th'  Yellow  Man  lied  — 
When  we  got  it  hot  from  every  side  — 
An'  many  a  man  in  that  first  fire  died  — 
As  Hell  about  us  wrapped ! 

All  night  long  we  laid  an'  fought  as  only  trapped  men 
can; 

All  night  long  we  heard  th'  voice  o'  th'  treacherous  Yel- 
low Man ; 

77 


THE  TRUST  OF  THE  YELLOW  MAN 

GIvIn'    commands    to    th'    ladrone    band    an'    showin'    a 

leader's  head — 
An'  all  night  long  we  fought  'em  back  an'  dead  piled 
up  on  dead; 

Fought  'em  from  th'  ragin'  flood ; 
Fought  'em  from  th'  banks  o'  mud  — 
Th'  water  red-dyed  with  our  blood 
An'  dead  piled  up  on  dead. 

Not  many  are  left  in  ole  C  troop  that  wuz  caught  in  that 

river  bed  — 
(For  th'   ladrones  tell   their  children   how  we  made  a 

dam  o'  our  dead;) 
Not  many  a  trooper  can  tell  to-day  th'  tale  o'  that  final 

stand  — 
How  we  fought  'em  ofi  there,  back  to  back,  an'  fought  'em 
hand  to  hand! 

(Or  th'  form  our  vengeance  later  took  — 
A  mango  tree  with  a  Yellow  Man  shook  — 
But  it's  all  writ  down  in  th'  officers'  book  — 
Th'  tale  o'  that  final  stand!) 

Many  a  grave  is  seen  to-day  in  th'  Province  o'  Siilucan; 

Many  a  mound  is  there  to  mark  our  trust  in  th^  Yellow 
Man; 

Mebbe  now  you  can  understand  th'  soldiers'  ban  on  th* 
Yellow  Man  — 

For  an  army  learned  a  lesson  from  our  trust  o'  th'  Yel- 
low Man. 

78 


THE  SERGEANTS  PRAYER 

NOW,  God,  just  listen  a  moment:  there's  Carroll  an' 
Kelly  an'  me; 
We're  the  last  o'  the  scoutin'  detachment,  an'  the  fightin' 

Is  up  to  us  three. 
Now,  God,  You  know  I'm  no  praylst,  an'  I  haven't  be- 
spoken You  much, 
But  It  strikes  me  the  time  has  arriven  when  we  oughta 
get  somewhat  In  touch. 

Now,  God,  we're  huntin'  no  favors;  we  asks  but  a  good 

even  break; 
Our  lives  have   gone  Into  the  dice-box;  You   give   us  a 

roll  when  You  shake; 
They've  got  the  advantage,  that's  certain  —  It's  three  to 

a  hundred  or  more  — 
We've  muddled  It  somehow  —  but  take  It  —  an'  Lord! 

won't  the  Captain  be  sore! 

I  know  that  Carroll's  a  pagan,   an'  Kelly,   I'm  fearin*, 

Is  worse  — 
But  I  wisht.   If  You  can,  You  won't   notice  whenever 

they  happen  to  curse. 
'Cause,    God,    though    they're   wicked,    I    need    'em;    an' 

kindly  don't  take  'em  away  — 
They  shoot  like  the  devil  In  action  If  they  are  ruther  dubs 

on  the  pray! 

79 


THE  SERGEANTS  PRAYER 

Now,   God,  you  stand  by  an'  You  watch  us;  we  may 

prove  a  strlkin'  surprise  — 
They've  got  us  outnumbered  a  little,  so  we're  trimmin' 

'em  down  to  our  size; 
You  umpire  —  but  watch  Your  decisions  —  and  try  for 

to  see  the  plays  right; 
Don't  help  us,  but  don't  help  the  gu-gu's  —  stand  by  for 

a  hell  of  a  fight ! 

Yes,  God,  as  I  say,  I'm  not  prayful,  but,  anyw^ay,  I'm 

some  sincere  — 
(Them  rifles  kick  up  such  a  racket  You  hardly  kin  hear.) 
There's  Carroll   an'   Kelly,   they're   heathens,   but   notice 

'em  here  at  my  side  — 
An'  if  you  are  asked  did  I  pray,  God,  just  mention,  please, 

Sir,  that  I  tried. 

An'    Carroll    an'    Kelly,    please   watch    em'  —  their    sins 

ain't  so  many,  I  guess; 
I  know  'em  as  pretty  good  geezers ;  they've  shared  me  my 

blankets   an'   mess; 
We're  askin'  no  favors  of  no  one;  we're  huntin'  no  tears 

—  nor  a  cheer ; 
But,    God,    don't   You   help   out   the   others  —  an',    kind 

God,  please  notice  our  rear. 

An',  God,  though  my  words  seem  some  tangled  an'  my 
prayin'  may  sound  ruther  strange, 

80 


THE  SERGEANTS  PRAYER 

Remember   I'm  bein'   some  hurried,   an'   tryin'   to  locate 

their  range; 
An'    Carroll    an'    Kelly   are   pagans  —  but,    Lord,    don't 

forget  they're  my  chums  — 
You'll  find   'em  as  game  as  they  make  'em  —  an'  ready 

for  Death  when  he  comes! 

Then   thankin'   you,    God,    for   attention,   please   give   us 

the  best  that  You  can  — 
We're  willin'  to  die  if  we  have  to  —  but  we  each  want  to 

go  like  a  man! 
An'  if  we're  to  go  we  would  like  it  —  Carroll  an'  Kelly 

an'  me  — 
To  go  in  a  bunch,  all  together  —  if  You'll  kindly  find 

quarters  for  three! 


8i 


''DIXIE'' 

(John  Blank,  a  member  during  the  Civil  War  of  Morgan's 
Raiders,  died.  .  .  .  With  his  dying  breath  he  hummed  the 
air  to  "Dixie"  —  News  item.) 

"O  OLL  back  the  close  drawn  curtain  of  years;  he  lives 

-■-^     in  another  day; 

He's  riding  again  with  Morgan's  men,  into  the  thick  of 

the  fray. 
Roll  back  the  curtain,  he  lives  again  in  the  midst  of  the 

battle  smoke; 
He  hears  the  crash  of  the  musketry;  sees  the  flash  of  the 

saber  stroke. 
Booted  and  spurred  he  is  in  the  charge,  riding  there  with 

the  van 
While  the  trumpets  call  and  brave  men  fall;  hears  the 

music  of  the  band  — 

''  In    Dixie   land    I'll    take   my   stand." 

Beyond  the  curtain  he  sees  the  glint  of  the  waving  stars 

and  bars; 
As  he  rides  again  with  Morgan's  men,  a  Southern  son 

of  Mars. 
The  clash  of  steel  and  the  horses'  hoofs  ring  music  to 

his  ears  — 
And  high  above  the  battle  roar  he  hears  the  rebel  cheers. 

82 


"  DIXIE  " 

"To  the  charge!"  the  bugles  sing  to  him  as  the  vision 

fades  away  — 
And  the  band  shrills  out  that  same  old  air  it  played  in 

another  day  — 

"  I'll  live  and  die  for  Dixie." 

Let  fall  the  curtain;  the  music  is  hushed;  for  him  the 

battle  is  done; 
The  clamor  of  arms  has  died  away;  for  him  the  victory 

Is  won. 
Mustered  out,  his  name  will  appear  on  the  Great  First 

Sergeant's  roll ; 
While  his  deeds  of  the  past  live  on  and  on  in  earthly 

screed  and  scroll ; 
Let  fall  the  curtain,  but  let  the  band  in  solemn  cadence 

play 
The  old,  old  air  that  cheered  him  on,  back  in  that  other 

day  — 

"Away,  away,  away!" 


83 


SAILING  ORDERS 

WE'RE  goin'  back;  we're  goin'  back;  th'  orders  come 
to-day ; 
We're  goin'  to  hit  th'  outward  track  that  leads  Manila 
way. 

Hi!  Listen,  you,  Juanita! 
Oh,  hear  this,  you,  Chiquita! 
We're  comin'  back  to  see  you  where  th'  tropic  breezes 
play ! 

Kiss  us,  Belle  an'  Betsy,  we're  a-goin'; 

Press  us  clost,  you  won't  have  us  for  long. 
Don't  you  hear  them  sweet-tongued  bugles  blowin', 

Tearin'  out  that  sailin'  orders  song? 
Bye-bye,  Jane  and  Nellie,  we  must  leave  you, 

For  our  hearts  has  heard  th'  stronger  call ; 
Adios !     O'  course,  we  hates  to  grieve  you  — 

We'll  come  back  some  day  to  see  you  all! 

Hark!  You  hear  them  ole  church  chimes  a-ringin', 

Smell  th'  breath  o'  incense  in  th'  air; 
Listen!     You  kin  hear  them  maidens  singin' 

As  they  troop  their  way  to  mornin'  prayer. 
Don't  you  feel  th'  touch  o'  perfumed  breezes 

As  sweetheart's  touch  on  lover's  cheek  must  feel? 
Cram  'er,  capt'in,  till  th'  ole  tub  wheezes  — 

See  th'  waves  a-dashin'  'neath  th'  keel! 

84 


SAILING  ORDERS 

Juana,  Pabalita  an'  Dolores, 

See  yer  soljer  boys  a-coming  back 
For  to  tell  you  all  them  same  ole  stones  — 

Pete  an'  Bill  an'  Sam  an'  Joe  an'  Jack. 
Kiss  us;  tell  us  you  are  glad  to  see  us  — 

Them  wot's  left,  for  some  have  gone  away; 
Glad  to  love  us  while  yer  brothers  tree  us  — 

Hi!     We're  comin'  back,  an'  some  will  stay! 


8s 


GENTLEMEN  OF  JEOPARD 


WHEN  MEN  DIE 

T  'VE  seen  'em  die  in  bed  with  a  nurse  to  pat  the  head  — 
-^     A  priest  to  give  'em  solace,  and  some  incense  when 

they're  dead; 
But  if  they've  time  to  think  ere  they  drop  beyond  the 

brink 
A  woman's  face  comes  to  them  and  a  woman's  name  is 

said. 


I  have  seen  them  go  away  before  they'd  time  to  say 

A  single  word;  men  good  and  bad,  who  died  at  work  or 

play. 
But   could   we   search    the   mind,    treasured    there   we'd 

surely  find 
A  woman's  face;  a  woman's  name  they'd  meant  to  speak 

some  day. 


89 


R 


BALLAD  OF  FRENCH  GEORGE 

EPORTER  for  the  Mornin'  Mail?     Well,  this  is 
what  I  see  — 

(We're   waitin'    for   the  wagon    an'   the   coroner   an' 
cops ; ) 
French   George   was   buyin'   drinks   for   us   an'   spendin' 
money   free  — 
I  hears  a  noise  like  "  blowie!  "  An'  then  French  George 
he  drops. 


You  know,  George  has  a  line  o'  cribs  an'  twenty  gals  or 

more ; 

He  wears   four  carat   diamonds  an'   he   drives   a  big 

machine  — 

That's  Georgie,  yonder,  dyin'  on  a  rotten  dirty  floor  — 

His  eyes  a-rollin'  upward  an'  his  face  a-turnin'  green! 

He  stood  here  buyin'  booze  for  us  an'  braggin'  by  the 
hour; 
No  decent  guy  would  listen,  but  y'see  we  all  are  broke ; 
He   cracked    about   his   money   an'    his   wimmin    an'    his 
power  — 
French   George,   who  wallers  yonder,   an'  who's  just 
about  to  croak. 

90 


BALLAD  OF  FRENCH  GEORGE 

A  kid  not  half  as  tall  as  me  —  a  furrlner  I'd  say 

Steps  up  to  George  a-standin'  here  an'  says  to  him,  so 
low: 
"Where  is  my  seester,  meester?"     An'  French  George 
he  lafEs  so  gay  — 
"She's    gone    away,    you    funny    boy,"    says    George; 
"  that's  all  I  know." 

Well,  this  kid  he  has  a  hatchet,  w'ich  French  George  he 
did  not  see; 
(An'   no   one   else   around   here   ever  saw  one   put   to 
use  — ) 
The  kid  he  swung  this  hatchet  an'  he  swung  it  from  his 
knee  — 
He  copped  French  George  upon  the  sconce  an'  split 
him  like  a  goose! 

Well,  French  George  has  got  a  line  o'  cribs,  so  someone 
bought  a  drink  — 
An'  someone  else  he  took  the  kid  and  chased  him  out 
the   rear; 
An'  while  French  George  is  dyin'  there  we're  tryin'  hard 
to  think 
W'ich  way  the  feller  went  so  we  can  give  them  bulls 
the  steer. 

W'y,  sure,  we  called  the  w^agon  —  within  an  hour  or  so  — 
An'  hunted  for  a  doctor,  'bo,  but  couldn't  find  a  one; 

91 


BALLAD  OF  FRENCH  GEORGE 

The  kid   ran  east,  or  north,  or  west,   or  maybe  south, 
y'know  — 
I  don't  know  w'ich  direction  but  I  know  that  he  could 
run! 

An'  so  French  George  is  on  his  way,  his  diamonds,  dough 
and  such  — 
Ain't  worth  two  whoops  In  Hell,  'bo,  an'  just  stick  it 
in  your  squibs 
That  all  his  pull  down  at  the  hall  won't  git  him  very 
much 
When  he  comes  to  settle  for  them  gals  an'  for  that  line 
o'  cribs. 


92 


"  THE  MAN  WHO  CAN'T  GO  BACK'' 

T 'VE  seen  him  down  in  Borneo,  a-workin'  in  a  store; 
-■'      Half  naked,  an'  most  starved  to  death  he  looked ; 
I've   seen   him   strut   in    Paris   when   he   had   the   dough 
galore. 

An'  as  an  able  seaman  seen  him  booked. 
An'  always  when  I  see  him  he  has  the  same  ole  say; 
He  speaks  o'   home  an'  wants  the  news  about  the   U. 

S.  A.— 
An'  hums  a  little  ballad  w^'ich  the  burden  o'  his  lay 

Is  "  Some  day  when  I  go  home!  " 

Chorus  — 
"  Some  day  when  I  go  home;  some  day  when  I  turn  back; 
Some  day  you  II  hear  me;  some  day  you  II  cheer  me 

Marchin    down  the  ole  home  track! 
Some  day  —  a  Monday ;  some  day  —  a  Sunday  — 

Some  day  Fm  go  in'  home!  " 

I've  seen  him  in  the  Argentine,  a  jockey  for  his  meals  — 

(You  mind  he  rode  for  Baldwin  long  ago?) 
I've  seen  him  on  the  Panama  an'  heard  his  soft  appeals 

At  Juarez,  where  he'd  let  his  whiskers  grow. 
An'  always  when  I  see  him  I  find  he  dreams  a  dream 
O'  home,  w'ich  is  the  States,  you  know,  an'  o'  a  silver 
gleam 

93 


"THE  MAN  WHO  CAN'T  GO  BACK'' 

O'  lights  that  crown  the  cities  an'  he  lets  ofE  all  his  steant 
On  "Some  day  when  I  go  home!  " 

Chorus  — ''  Some  day,  etc/' 

I've    seen    him    down    in    Algiers,    in    the    Frenchman's 
foreign  corps; 

I've  seen  him  in  Alaska,  froze  to  death ; 
He  worked  an  automatic  in  Estrada's  rag-tag  war 

An'  helped  Spain  run  the  Sultan  out  o'  breath. 
It   makes   no   difference   where   you're   from;   it   may   be 

loway  — 
An'  he  from  Maine,  he'll  want  to  talk  about  the  U.  S.  A.,. 
An'  always,  over  an'  over,  the  burden  o'  his  lay 

Is  "  Some  day  when  I  go  home!  " 

Chorus  — 

I've  watched  him   dealin'   seconds   in   a  Red   Sea  liner's 
game ; 

I've  seen  him  kneel  In  Rome,  as  if  at  prayer; 
I've  watched   him   go  it   fast  an'  loose,  with   some  fair,, 
furrin'  dame  — 

An'  sidestep  many,  an'  many  a  well  laid  snare. 
He's  just  outside  the  statute  an'  the  extradition  law; 
He's  quick  on  sizin'  strangers,  an'  quicker  on  the  draw  — 
But  quicker  still  in  loosenin'  the  rein  upon  his  jaw 

On  "  Some  day  when  I  go  home!  " 

94 


''THE  MAN  WHO  CAN'T  GO  BACK'' 
Chorus  — 

I've  seen  him  fight  a  dozen  men  around  a  German  park, 
In  rough  house  style,  the  way  he's  learned  to  do; 

Because  some  one  o'  them  had  made  an  innocent  remark 
About  the  stars  an'  stripes,  an'  made  him  blue. 

He's  walloped  docks  at  Lisbon,  an'  I've  seen  him  eat  a 
meal 

With  natives  in  Tahiti,  but  I  never  heard  him  squeal 

About  his  fate,  he  only  pulls  that  never  endin'  spiel 
O'  "  Some  day  when  I  go  home!  " 

Chorus  — 


95 


THE  BOY  SHE  USED  TO  KNOW 

TIMES  when  he  comes  staggering  home,  breathing  a 
wicked  curse; 
Out  of  the  drums  of  the  midnight  slums,  empty  of  soul 

and  purse; 
She  waits  for  him  with  a  patient  smile,  and  her  eyes  so 

plainly  show 
That  she  sees  In  him  not  the  wreck  we  see,  but  a  boy  she 
used   to   know. 

Times  when   he's  broken   in   pride   and   health   and   the 

world  says,  **  Failure,  here." 
And  he  sidles  through  life  with  the  fear  of  strife  that  the 

beaten  men  always  fear; 
She  doesn't  see  what  the  world  must  see,  that  he's  dropped 

to  a  depth  so  low  — 
And  her  eyes  light  up  with  the  light  of  love  for  the  boy 

she  used  to  know. 

Times,  maybe,  when  the  prison  doors  have  closed  on  his 

worthless  back. 
And  they've  cried  his  name  and  his  brand  of  shame  to  the 

world  in  a  wild  attack ; 
She  waits  for  him  with  that  patient  smile  through  the 

years  that  tread  so  slow  — 
And  she  sees  in  him  in  his  bitterest  hour  the  boy  she  used 

to  know. 

96 


THE  BOY  SHE  USED  TO  KNOW 

She  looks  on  him  with  the  eyes  that  saw  his  charm  in  the 

time  of  youth; 
In  the  golden  days  when  they  planned  their  ways,  and 

his  words  w^re  the  w^ords  of  truth ; 
She  waits  for  him  and  she  prays  for  him  as  she  prayed  in 

the  long  ago, 
For  she  sees  in  him  not  the  man  we  see,  but  the  boy  she 

used  to  know. 


97 


THE  PICK  AND  SHOVEL  BRIGADE 

WE  march  to  the  marks  o'  the  blue  print  sharks,  an* 
the  tune  o'  commands  profane, 
As  our  captains  drive  us  wit'  pick  handle  swords  in  the 

heat  an'  the  blindin'  rain; 
We're  takin'  the  trenches  along  the  route  wherever  the 

expert  steers  — 
An'  we're  first  in  the  firin'  line  o'  work  at  the  heels  o' 
the  engineers; 
Blizzard  an'  snow  an'  the  heat  o'  below  — 

Wherever  the  expert  steers; 
Our  lines  fight  through  wit'  a  loud  "  whoo-roo!  " 
At  the  heels  o'  the  engineers! 

Our  uniforms  are  a  greasy  blue,  an'  our  haversacks  bat- 
tered pails; 
Our  flag  is  a  dirty  square  o'  red  that's  planted  where 

danger  hails  — 
An  anarchist  red  which  marks  the  spot  that  the  experts 

eye  wit'  dread. 
That  we  discover  an'  show  so  plain  wit'  our  flag  —  an' 
a  couple  o'  dead! 
Shovel  an'  pick  —  a  laugh  at  ole  Nick 

As  we  fight  for  our  daily  bread ; 
Look  out  for  our  flag  —  that  dirty  red  rag 
That  marks  the  place  o'  our  dead! 

98 


THE  PICK  AND  SHOVEL  BRIGADE 

We  charge  to  the  roar  o'  a  dynamite  blast  an'  the  music 

o'  fallln'  rock; 
Our    lines    swing    first    through    the    New-Found-Ways 

while  the  earth  still  shakes  from  the  shock; 
Mountains  to  move  an'  rivers  to  change  —  or  a  job  on 

a  railroad  grade 
Bobbin'  ahead  at  the  far-flung  front  are  the  men  o'  our 
queer  brigade. 
First  w^e  go  wit'  our  ole  "  yee-ho  " 

By  the  maps  that  the  experts  made; 
It's  a  good,   tight  fit   through  paths  unlit 
On  the  line  o'  our  queer  brigade. 

Biddy  an'  Marreuch  stay  home,  an'  they  wait  'till  our 

crew  comes  back; 
(Some  o'  us  come  on  shutters,  too,  from  the  mill  an'  the 

hill  an'  track;) 
An'  Biddy  an'  Marreuch  pack  the  pails  an'  watch  the 

flag  o'  our  corps, 
An'  weep,  as  wimmin  o'  soldiers  do,  when  we  come  back 
from  the  war! 
Broken  an'  hurt  an'  covered  with  dirt  — 

From  the  field  where  the  rock  slides  roar; 
They  ain't  no  cheers,  but  plenty  o'  tears 
When  we  come  home  from  the  war! 

You'll  find  our  strange  corps  over  the  world,  wit'  our 
pails  an'  picks  in  hand, 
99 


THE  PICK  AND  SHOVEL  BRIGADE 

Ready  to  move  an'  ready  to  do  in  any  ole  part  o'  the  land. 
Down  in  the  sewers  an'  subways,  too,  we  fight  for  a  dol- 
lar a  day  — ■ 
An'  few  o'  us  speak  in  the  same  ole  tongue,  but  we  sweat 
in   the  same  ole  way! 
Dago  an'  Mick  wit'  shovel  an'  pick 

That  rattle  a  tune  so  gay; 
We  talk  by  signs  on  the  workin'  lines 
But  we  sweat  in  the  same  ole  way! 


100 


A  DIVORCE  PROBLEM 

T'M    givin'   her  bonds   worth   millions;    Dell's   a   quiet 

-"-      old  girl ; 

And  she  knows  that  I've  worked  a  lifetime,  and  how  I'm 

wantin'  my  whirl. 
And  I  guess  if  she  reads  the  papers  —  they've  roasted  me 

to  a  crisp  — 
She  knows  I'm  goin'  to  Paris  with  a  female  will-o-the- 

wisp. 
But  my  lawyers  say  when  they  told  her  she  took  my  terms 

with  a  nod; 
"  Tell  him,"  she  said,  "  It's  settled  —  but  what  will  he 

say  to  God?  " 

Well,   I  ain't  so  religious,  that's  certain ;  but  you  see  I 

know  what  she  meant; 
And  it's  carried  me  back  to  the  eighties,  when  we  started 

without  a  cent. 
A  cottage  over  in   Brooklyn,   and  pickin's  were  m.Ighty 

slim, 
But  Dell  she  was  long  on  layin'  the  most  of  her  trust 

In  Him. 
And   we    dreamed   when    I'd   be    a   builder  —  I    started 

carryin'  a  hod  — 
And  Dell  hung  onto  the  money,  along  with  her  faith  in 

God. 

lOI 


A  DIVORCE  PROBLEM 

Many   a  short  cut  offered,   but  I   followed   a  woman's 

whim. 
For  Dell  she  was  always  warnin':     "What  would  we 

say  to  Him?  " 
So  I  came  by  my  money  honest,  my  conscience  clear  as  a 

bell  — 
A  bit  o'  fear  of  Him  in  my  heart  that  came  from  a  life 

with  Dell. 
But  now  that  she's  asked  the  question  it's  given  my  mind 

a  prod  — 
Even  though  Dell  has  said  all  right  —  what  will  I  say 

to  God? 


102 


BALLAD  OF  HOP  LOOEY 

A  -LAYIN'  in  a  hop  joint  an'  a-smokin'  of  yen  shee 
-^  ^  Hop  Looey  tole  this  tale  to  me,  to  me  he  sez,  sez  he : 
**  Don't  never  trust  a  woman  fer  to  do  a  thing  fer  you; 
Don't  never  trust  a  woman  fer  she'll  turn  you  if  you  do  " ; 
An'  this  is  wot  Hop  Looey  tole,  he  sez  to  me,  sez  he  — 
A-layin'  in  a  hop  joint  an'  a  smokin'  of  yen  shee. 

Back  yonder  in  that  Chiny  land  along  the  Ho-Ang-Ho 
There  is  a  purty  little  town,  the  w'ich  he  usta  know; 
Back  yonder  in  that  little  town  he  lived  a  happy  life 
Until  he  comes  to  buy  a  gal  to  be  his  lovin'  wife  — 
Along   the    Ho-Ang-Ho  — 
Ho  ho!  Ho  ho!  Ho  ho! 
He  comes  to  buy   Miss  Almond   Eyes  to  be  his  lovin' 
wife! 

Six  thousand  bucks  she  cost  him  an*  he  had  the  price  to 

pay  — 
The  w'ich  he  had  been  savin'  up  agin  a  rainy  day; 
He  sez   the   gal  wuz  worth   it,   an'   he   shorely  oughta 

know 
The  scale  o'  female  prices  down  along  the  Ho-Ang-Ho  — 
Along  the  Ho-Ang-Ho  — 
Ho  ho!   Ho  ho!   Ho  ho! 
Fer   wimmin   come   to   somethin'    down    along  the    Ho- 
Ang-Ho! 

103 


BALLAD  OF  HOP  LOOEY 

(He  tells  this  tale  to  me;  a-lookin'  wise  at  me  — 
A-layIn'  in  a  hop  joint  an'  a-smokin'  of  yen  shee.) 

His  daddy  wuz  a  widder  man,  his  mammy  bein'  dead  — 

His  daddy  blessed  the  weddin'  of  them  by  the  Joss'  head ; 

An'   punk  sticks   burned   some   freely   an'   everyone  wuz 
glad  — 

An'  most  of  all,  Hop  Looey  sez,  wuz  Looey's  widder  dad. 
Upon  the  Ho-Ang-Ho 
He  laughs  a  loud  "  Ho  ho!  " 

An'  give  to  them  his  blessin'  did  Hop  Looey's  widder  dad. 

(Most  glad  his  dad,  sez  he;  a-lookin'  wise  at  me  — 
A-layin'  in  a  hop  joint  an'  a-smokin'  of  yen  shee!) 

Next  mornin'   Loo  finds  out  his  dream  is  somewhat  to 
the  bad  — 

It  seems  his  bloomin'  little  wife  has  run  off  with  his  dad ! 

They   took   a  boat   fer   Hong   Kong   an'   they   sails   fer 
Frisco  —  Oh 

Hop  Looey's  heart  wuz  mighty  sad  back  on  the  Ho-Ang- 
Ho— 

Upon   the   Ho-Ang-Ho 

They  laughs  a  loud  "  Ho  ho!  " 

A-leavin'  Looey  mighty  sad  back  on  the  Ho-Ang-Ho! 

(Hop  Looey  sez  he  wuz  so  sad  he  wept  most  tear- 
fully— 

He  tells  me  as  he  takes  the  hook  to  scrape  some  more  yen 
shee. ) 

104 


BALLAD  OF  HOP  LOOEY 

He  follers  them  to  Frisco  an"  he  makes  an  orful  roar 

To  find  them  livin'  happy,  an"  they  keeps  a  little  store; 

They  keeps   a  little  store,   they   does;   he   gives  them   no 
surprise  — 

An"  sad  to  say  they  makes  him  pay  fer  ever\-thing  he  buys. 
They  laughs  the  same  "  Ho  hoi  "' 
As  upon   the   Ho-Ang-Ho  — 

They  even  doubles  up  sometimes  on  prices  when  he  buys. 

(He  tells  this  tale  to  me  a-lookin"  wise  at  me  — 
A-layin"  in  a  hop  joint  an"  a-smokin"  of  yen  shee.) 

Six  thousand  bucks  she  cost  him  an'  that  same  he  now  is 

shy  — 
They  won't  allow  him  credit  when  he  comes  around  to 

buy ; 
They  won't  alloAv  him  credit  an'  he  feels  it  mighty  bad 
A-figgerin"  he  wuz  buncoed  by  the  maiden  an"  his  dad  — 
Along  the  Ho-Ang-Ho — 
Ho  hoi  Ho  hoi  Ho  hoi 
Fer  wimmin  come  to  somethin'  even  on  the  Ho-Ang-Ho! 

(He  tells  this  tale  to  me;  a-lookin'  wise  at  me 

Before  he  drops  to  gentle  sleep  a-smokin'  of  yen  shee  I) 


105 


o 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  EXILES 

Arizona  — 1912 

UR  dreams  are  dreams  of  the  big  white  lane,  and 
the  glories  of  glittering  lights; 
Our  themes  are  themes  of  the  crowds  we  knew  and  our 

stories  of  brilliant  nights; 
And  our  minds  dwell  long  on  the  star-set  hours,  and  the 

things  that  we  used  to  do 
As  we  muse  on  the  time  of  our  health  and  youth  and 
pray  that  our  dreams  come  true  — 
And  we  chant  a  prayer  at  eventide 
As  we  watch   the  stars  in   their  splendor   ride 
Over  the  world  for  which  we've  sighed  — 
"  Lord,  be  with  us, 
Stay  with  us!  " 

We  march  by  the  Sunset  Limiteds  and  we  camp  at  the 

Mission    Inns  — 
Our  flag  is  the  Red  Cross  flag  of  hope  and  our  hope  that 

the  best  man  wins; 
So  we  spend  our  time  in  the  house  tent  kraals,  with  our 

thin  lines  faced  to  the  foe 
And  we  greet  the  night  as  the  time  of  dreams  of  the  days 

that  we  used  to  know. 
106 


THE  SONGS  OF  THE  EXILES 

Yet  we  pray  as  we  face  the  rising  sun 
And  the  hours  of  the  day  begin  to  run; 
"  Lord,    Oh,    Lord,    Thy    will    be    done  — 

Be  with  us. 

Stay  with  us!  " 

Our    doctor-generals   have    kept   our   camps    flung   wide 

'neath  the  Southwest  skies; 
And  we've  fought  our  batteries  of  great  resolve  with  a 

courage  that  never  dies; 
So  we  spend  our  time  on  the  sun-splashed  plain  that  the 

healing  South  Wind  sweeps  — 
And  each  morning  that  marshals  our  thin  reserves  finds 
our  dreams  lying  dead  in  heaps! 
So  we  kneel  when  darkness  comes,  and  pray —     2 
(There's  very  little  that  we  can  say;) 
"  Lord,  Oh,  Lord,  Give  us  this  day  — 
Be  with  us. 
Stay  with   us!  " 


107 


JUDGE  BARLEYCORN 

OLE  Judge  Barleycorn  he  presides  over  the  District  o' 
Down  an'  Out; 
Jurisdiction  beyond  the  Poles  an'  a  little  o'  Hell  I  have 

no  doubt. 
Maybe  the  warden's  books  don't  show  but  the  warden 

knows  that  his  job  was  born 
Out  o'  the  District  o'  Down  an'  Out  an'  the  jurisdiction 
o'  Barleycorn! 

Ole  Judge  Barleycorn  he's  severe;  Misery  his  bailiff  an' 

Woe  his  clerk; 
Draws  his  jurors  from  Fathers'  Sins;  capable  men  for  the 

judge's  work. 
Maybe  the  warden's  books  don't  show  but  the  warden's 

wise  an'  he  understands 
Ninety   per   cent,    of   his   people   come   from   the   judge's 

district  an'   the  judge's  hands. 

Who   are   the  witnesses?     Rise   an'   stand!     Alcohol,   in 

a  dull  brocade; 
Wine  an'  Wimmin  an'  a  bad  ole  Song  pass  to  the  desk 

in  a  sad  parade. 
Who  the  attorneys?     Death  for  the  State;  Tears  for  the 

prisoner  all  forlorn  — 
(No  defense  from  the  prisoners'  dock  goes  in  the  court  o' 

Barleycorn.) 

1 08 


JUDGE  BARLEYCORN 

Never  a  quibble  o'  laws  unwrit;  never  a  charge  but  the 

charge  "  Did  Wrong  " — 
Ole  Judge   Barleycorn   sets  an'   frowns;  pities  the  weak 

an'  singes  the  strong. 
Hearks   to   the    pleas   o'    I-Regret   or   Wimmin's   Tears 

wit'  a  look  o'  scorn  — 
Better   a   cry   o'    Never   Again   when   they   come   to   the 

court  o'  Barleycorn. 

The     warden     credits     'em     "  Judges-This,"     "  Judges- 

That  "  ;  however  styled 
They  know  blame  well   that  their  sentences  came  long 

before  the  charge  was  filed. 
Blood  on  their  hands  an'  blood  in  their  hearts;  haunted 

by  fear  an'  conscience  torn  — 
Maybe   the   warden's   books   don't   show   but   they   came 

from  the  court  o'  Barleycorn! 


109 


M 


THE  ONE-CHANCE  MEN 

(COAL  MINE  INSPECTORS) 

AIN  North  vomits  a  fearful  roar,  and  seventy  men 
are  down  in  the  hole ; 
Dagoes,  Japs,  and  a  nigger  or  two,  but  probably  never 

a  living  soul  — 
Probably  not  —  but  there  may  be  One  —  is  there  a  man 

who  will  go  and  see? 
Swinging  a  safety  lamp  he  comes,  and,  God,  what  a  man 
of  men  is  he! 
Overalled,  capped,  and  a  querulous  grin ; 
Ducking  his  head  as  he  dives  in  — 
Slapping  aside  the  weeping  girls:  "  Don't  let  them  follow 
me! 
Into  the  dismal  pit  he  goes. 
By  the  light  of  the  lamp  that  faintly  shows 
Where  the  dead  lie  dead  in  mournful  rows  — 
God!  What  a  man  a  man  can  be! 

Oxygen-helmeted    the    experts   come,    picking    their   way 

with  expert  care; 
Far  ahead   in  the  aching  gloom  they  hear  the  inspector 

loudly  swear; 
Over  the  rock  falls,  into  the  rooms,  where  the  roof  still 

trembles  so  dangerously  — 
1 10 


THE  ONE-CHANCE  MEN 

God  and  the  state  have  sent  a  man,  and,  God,  what  a 
man  Is  he! 

Hair  singed  gray  by  the  fires  of  Death  — 

Lungs  corroded  by  the  noisome  breath 
Of  a  hundred  mines  and  a  thousand  times  when  he  earned 
his  salary; 

Over  the  walls  of  the  treacherous  shale; 

Ears  sharp  set  for  a  human  hail  — 

On  he  goes  down  the  Death  wind's  trail  — 

God!  what  a  man  a  man  can  be! 

Main  North's  mouth  breathes  the  breath  of  Hell,  and  its 

guts  are  rotted  with  afterdamp  — 
But  God  and  the  state  send  a  man  to  see,  and  he  goes 

looking  with  a  safety  lamp; 
Death  lurks  there,  but  it  hides  its  face  from  a  man  who 

passes  so  carelessly  — 
Poking  his  light  in  its  very  eyes  —  God,  what  a  man  of 
men  is  he ! 
Grease  and  grime  to  the  roots  of  his  hair; 
Blear-eyed,  bleeding  as  he  tests  the  air; 
Tests  the  roof  and  tests  the  walls  and  notes  where  the 
dead  must  be ; 
On  through  the  Hell-rimmed  hole  he  creeps, 
Where  the  mules  are  lying  in  six-team  heaps; 
Dodging  the  falls  by  quick-turned  leaps  — 
God!  what  a  man  a  man  can  be! 


Ill 


THE  ONE-CHANCE  MEN 

It's  a  hundred  to  one  chance  never  a  man  has  lived  for  a 

moment  after  the  blast  — 
But  the  mine  inspector's  a  One-Chance-Man,  and  he  fol- 
lows that  chance  to  the  very  last; 
And  the  women  pray  at  the  mouth  of  the  pit  as  the  dead 

file  out  so  mournfully  — 
While  down  in  the  depths  he  toils  for  them  —  God,  what 
a  man  of  men  is  he! 
Listens  and  prays  for  a  human  cry; 
Feels  of  the  dead  as  he  passes  them  by  — 
Feels  for  the  tunk  of  a  human  heart,  where  the  forms 
stretch  silently; 
Follows  a  hope  however  slim ; 
Maps  a  path  through  the  chaos  grim 
For  the  rescue  gangs  who  must  follow  him  — 
God!  What  a  man  a  man  can  be! 


112 


THE   ONE   WITH   THE   CLOUDY  EYES 

DOWN  in  a  drum  on  Sidewise  street,  where  the  red 
lights  burn  with  a  wicked  leer, 
We  laid  Long  Charley  down  to  die,  and  Charley  knew 

that  the  end  was  near. 
For  he'd  fought  with  a  copper  in  Sidewise  street  and  he 

got  a  ball  where  his  lungs  should  be, 
So  we  laid  him  out  on  the  bar  to  die  and  held  him  down 
with  a  heavy  knee. 

His  life  blood  dripped  on  the  bottles  and  ice  and  stained 

the  bar  to  a  darker  hue, 
But  we  kept  him  from  floundering  about  the  place  and 

held  him  quiet  till  Death  got  through. 
And,   dying,   he  babbled   of  many  things  that  we  never 

had  heard  him  speak  before, 
And  his  words  fell  strange  to  a  listening  group  as  his  life 

blood  spattered  the  sawdust  floor. 

His  hands  were  stained  with  another's  gore,  and  the  life 

he  had  lived  w^as  as  black  as  night; 
His  name  was  the  name  for  all  things  bad  and  his  hair 

had  grayed  from  the  prison  blight; 
But  down  in  the  drums  on  Sidewise  street  they  are  still 

repeating  what  Charley  said, 
When,  dying,  he  opened  a  heart  long  sealed  and  spoke  as 

a  man  who  moved  with  the  dead. 

113 


THE  ONE  WITH  THE  CLOUDY  EYES 

"A  woman  is  bending  o'er  me  with  a  light  in  her  cloudy 

eyes 
That  shines  as  sure  and  tender  as  the  stars  in  yonder  skies; 
She  is  robed  in  a  gown  of  roses  exhaling  a  fragrant  breath. 
And  I  feel  her  fingers  against  my  cheek  as  she  whispers 

her  name  is  Death. 

''Aye,  Death;  and  back  behind  her  is  a  woman  as  harsh 

and  cold 
As  a  wicked  night  in  winter;  whose  features  are  drawn 

and  old; 
Who  smiles  with  a  weary  effort,  and  who  carries  a  gun 

and  knife  — 
And  about  her  rattles  a  cloak  of  mail  as  she  whispers  her 

name  is  Life! 

"And  theyWe  telling  me  choose  between  them,  and  Life 

is  bidding  me  rise  — 
{Oh,  the  light  is  sure  and  tender  that  shines  in  the  cloudy 

eyes!) 
Then  the  old  days  pass  before  me,  and  Life  is  crouched 

for  a  blow  — 
ril  go  in  the  way  I  want  to,  as  long  as  I  have  to  go! 

''  ril  take  the  one  with  the  cloudy  eyes  and  you  tess  for 

the  other  one; 
I've  had  my  fill  of  hell-on-earth,  and  now  Fm  glad  it's 

done. 

114 


THE  ONE  WITH  THE  CLOUDY  EYES 

ril  take  the  one  that  looks  so  sure  and  you  may  have  your 

Life  — 
For  I  know  the  one  with  the  cloudy  eyes  will  be  as  true 

as  a  wife!  " 

Out  of  the  drum  on  Sidewise  street,  where  the  red  lights 

bum  with  a  wicked  leer, 
We  took  Long  Charley  away  to  the  morgue  and  left  him 

there  with  never  a  tear; 
For  we  knew  that  Charley  had  made  his  choice,  and  most 

of  us  felt  that  the  choice  was  wise  — 
And  he  went  away  from  Sidewise  street  in  the  arms  of 

the  one  with  the  cloudy  eyes. 


115 


''JOHN  YEGG"  SPEAKS 

^^  T  UNGLED  up"  at  Kenesaw  an'  bollin'  out  some 
J       "soup"; 

(Peegum  Pete,  th'  Bosting  Bean  an'  San  Diego  Shine.) 
Settin'  'round  a  campfire  in  an'  interestin'  group, 

Speakin'  o'  th'  things  they'd  seen  a  blowin'  down  th' 
line. 
Tellin'  funny  stories 
O'  their  former  glories  — 
(Peegum  Pete,  th'  Bosting  Bean  an'  San  Diego  Shine.) 
Bodily  strong  an'  ables, 
Settin'  tellin'  fables  — 
How  they'd  hit  th'  rattler  long  o'  wimming  an'  th'  wine! 

"  Onct  I  cracks  a  residence,"  begins  th'  Bosting  Bean  — 
(Tellin'  it  in  lingo  w'ich  you'd  hardly  understand.) 
"  Hauls  a  lot  o'  tableware,  a  bunch  o'  silky  green — 
Dimmit  ring  a  woman  likes  ter  wear  upon  'er  hand. 
When  I  lamps  it  gleamin' 
Thinks  I  am  a-dreamin'  — " 
(Peegum  Pete's  a-winkin'  at  th'  San  Diego  Shine!) 
"  'Cuz  I  recognize  it  — 

Years  could  not  disguise  it  — 
Hoop  I  gives  ter  Katie  when  I  uster  call  'er  mine !  " 

ii6 


"  JOHN  YEGG  "  SPEAKS 

"That  wuz  twenty  years  ago,"  allows  th'  Bosting  Bean; 
(Mister    Booze    had    taken    me    along    th'    Primrose 
Way.) 
"  She  had  gone  an'  married  ter  a  guy  I'd  never  seen  — 
(Though  she  waited  years  fer  me  from  wot  I've  heerd 
'em  say.) 
But  th'  dimmit  showed  me  — 
Memory  she  stowed  me — " 
(Peegum  Pete's  a-winkin'  at  th'  San  Diego  Shine.) 
"  She  had  not  forgotten  — 
Say!  I'm  feelin'  rotten 
Lookin'  at  th'  ring  I  gave  ter  sort  o'  brand  'er  mine !  " 

"  'Course  you  took  it  back  agin,"  sez  San  Diego  Shine; 

(Bosting  Bean's  about  asleep  a-dozin'  by  th'  fire.) 
"  Nope,"  he  sez  it  drowsily,  "  becuz  it  onct  wuz  mine"; 
(Peegum  Pete's  a-makin'  signs  a-meanin'  he's  a  liar.) 

"  Spark  wuz  nice  an'  nifty  — 

Soaks  'er  for  a  fifty  — 
Get's  a  jag  that  lasts  a  week  an'  blows  on  up  th'  line!  " 

Campfire  is  a-roarin', 

Bosting  Bean's  a-snorin'  — 
(Peegum  Pete's  a-winkin'  at  th'  San  Diego  Shine!) 


117 


THE  STORY  OF  YANEY  HOW 

nriHIS  tale  they  tell  when  the  pipes  burn  low  in  the 
J-         hives  of  the  Mongol  Men; 
When  the  guttering  light  spits  at  the  night  and  the  Sleep 

comes  on  again; 
This  tale  they  tell  when  the  poppy  spell  wafts  Hence  on 

the  Wings  of  Now; 
Then  the  dreamers  speak  and  their  voices  squeak  with  the 

story  of  Yaney  How. 
They  tell  this  tale  with  a  hitter  wail  as  the  shaved  heads 

bend  and  bow ; 
"  Oh,  they  killed  the  luck  when  they  killed  The  Duck 

and  they  killed  sweet  Yaney  Howl " 

In  her  little  purple  trousers  and  her  shirt  of  fluted  green, 

She  was  the  fairest  flower  that  the  street  had  ever  seen; 

Oh,  she  came  from  Kia-Cheno  which  is  on  the  River  Ho ; 

And    she    came    the    goods    and    chattels    of    the    lordly 
leader,  Fo. 

She  came  the  goods  and  chattels  of  the  lordly  leader,  Fo, 

Who  is  tender  of  the  Joss  House  and  who  rules  the  Mon- 
gol Row; 

And  he  told   the  gambling  players  that  the   girl  would 
change  the  luck 

As  he  put  her  in  the  Joss  House  under  guard  of  Manny 
Duck. 

ii8 


THE  STORY  OF  YANEY  HOW 

Oh,   The   Duck  was  cruel   and  crafty  and   he  swung  a 

ready  knife; 
At  the  bidding  of  his  master  he  would  sacrifice  his  life ; 
Oh,  The  Duck  was  young  and  handsome,  but  he  loved 

his  master  Fo, 
And  he  ruled  with  knife  and  pistol  all  along  the  Mongol 

Row. 


They  told  it  to  the  gamblers  that  the  maiden,  Yaney  How, 
Was  a  daughter  of  the  Temples,  of  the  Gods  to  whom 

they  bow; 
And  they  told  it  to  the  gamblers  that  a  dollar  ever}-  day 
Paid  to  Yaney  at  the  Joss  House  would  make  lucky  all 

their  play. 

From  far  and  near  the  gamblers  came  to  visit  Mongol 
Row, 

To  get  fair  Yaney's  blessing   (taught  her  bv  the  lordly 
Fo); 

From  far  and  near  the  gamblers  came  and  wider  grew 
her  fame, 

For  their  luck  had  grown  astounding  and  they  reverenced 
her  name. 

Back  and  forth  along  the  passage,  back  and  forth  before 
her  door 

Walked  her  keeper  with  his  pistol  thirsting  for  some  hu- 
man's gore; 

119 


THE  STORY  OF  YANEY  HOW 

But  The  Duck  was  young  and  handsome  and  despite  his- 

visage  grim 
He  couldn't  help  but  notice  that  the  maiden  smiled   at 

him. 

Oh,  Yaney  How  was  good  to  look  on  and  she  turned  her 

jailor  stern 
From  his  duty  to  his  master;  where  the  punk  sticks  ever 

burn, 
Where  the  Joss  is  gazing  crossly,  underneath  his  awful 

eye 
Sprang  a  story  of  a  loving  that  could  never,  never,  die. 

Sprang  a  story  of  a  loving;  sprang  a  plan  of  Manny 
Duck, 

How  to  steal  the  maiden,  Yaney,  and  to  take  the  gam- 
bler's luck; 

With  a  rope  he  formed  a  ladder,  from  the  window  they 
would  go  — 

But  they  planned  without  a  reckoning  of  the  lordly 
leader,  Fo. 

From  the  window  went  the  lovers,  she  in  Manny  Duck's 

embrace ; 
And  he  paid  the  rope  out  slowly  as  they  swung  out  into 

space ; 
Inch  by  inch  they  downward  traveled  and   their  hearts 

beat  high  with  hope  — 
Then  Fo  leaned  from  a  window  —  with  a  knife  he  cut 

the  rope! 

120 


THE  STORY  OF  YANEY  HOW 

They  tell  this  tale  when  the  pipes  burn  low  in  the  hives 

of  the  Mongol  Men; 
How  it's  ten  flights  down  from  the  roof  to  the  ground 

and  it's  ten  to  the  roof  again; 
Oh,  it's  ten  flights  down  from  the  roof  to  the  ground,  and 

the  shaved  heads  bend  and  bow  — 
For  the  lordly  Fo  with  a  single  blow  stopped  The  Duck 

—  and  Yaney  How! 
They  tell  this  tale  with  a  bitter  wail  as  the  shaved  heads 

bend  and  bow: 
"  Oh,  they  killed  the  luck  when  they  killed  The  Duck 

and  they  killed  sweet  Yaney  How!" 


121 


THE  TEARLESS  EYES 

BALLAD   OF  A  BEACH   COMBER 

I     SING  o'  love  undyin' ;  the  kind  there  ain't  no  buyin' ; 
O'  wimmin  waitin'  lonely,  but  no  tears  is  In  their 
eyes ; 
The  deep  of  them  reflectin'  the  love  they  are  expectin'  — 
An'   Faith  a-shlnin'   strongly  as  the  blue  o'   seas  and 
skies. 

They  looks  at  you  with  their  tearless  eyes 

An'  their  Faith  shows  strong  an'  true; 
An'  they  says  '*  I'll  wait,  yes,  early,  late  — 

I'll  wait,"  they  says,  "  for  you." 
For  you  have  taken  them  to  wife 

By  their  heathen  customs,  too  — 
An'  they  says  "  I'll  wait,  yes,  early,  late  — 

I'll  wait,"  they  says,  ''  for  you." 

I  s'pose  the  roads  through  the  southern  seas 

Are  lined  by  a  waitin'  throng; 
(Oh,  the  tearless  eyes  invite  the  lies 

When  you  hear  that  homeward  song.) 
When  the  sails  are  filled  with  the  'Frisco  wind 

An'  the  boat  swings  nose  to  sea  — 
It's  "  wait  for  Jack  'cause  I'll  come  back  — 

You  wait,"  you  says,  **  for  me." 

122 


THE  TEARLESS  EYES 

When  your  heart  is  sick  o'  the  teemin'  shores 

An'  the  gabblin'  tongues  you  hear; 
When  the  houses  stink,  oh,  it's  then  you  think 

O'  Her  you  once  held  dear. 
No  particular  Her,  o'  course,  but  Her 

O'  the  tearless  eyes  you  knew  — 
An'  you  hear  the  call  o'  the  waterfall 

For  she's  waitin'  there  for  you. 

Oh,  gimme  Her  o'  the  tearless  eyes 

An'  Her  brown-stained,  shinin'  hide; 
An'  Her  faith  that's  sure  and  Her  heart  that's  pure 

As  the  froth  on  the  slidin'  tide. 
Oh,  gimme  Her  with  Her  silent  tongue 

When  the  boat  slips  through  the  blue  — 
Who  says  **  I'll  wait,  yes,  early,  late  — 

"  I'll  wait,"  she  says,  "  for  you." 

I  sing  o'  love  undyin' ;  o'  wimmin  never  sighin' ; 

(The  tearless  eyes  o'  womankind  a-starin'  through  the 
dark.) 
I  sing  o'  peas  an'  roses;  o'  seas  an'  flattened  noses  — 

I  twang  me  lyre  to  sing  about  the  ever-burnin'  spark! 


123 


BALLAD  OF  THE  BRAKETEAMS 

YOU  have  told  yer  little  stories 
Good  an'  bad  an'  new  an'  hoarles; 
You  have  mentioned  days  o'  hunger  an'  o'  thirst. 
You  have  told  o'  roads  you've  beaten 
An'  o'  meals  you  haven't  eaten 

An'  you've  tried  ter  figger  when  you  felt  th'  worst. 
You  have  given  yer  opinions 
O'  th'  law  an'  all  Its  minions  — 

An'  you've  spoken  free  o'  skookums  that  you've  seen 
In  passin'  by. 
But  I  haven't  heard  j^ou  mention 
So  I  calls  ter  yer  attention 

Th'  joys  o'  ridin'  brakebeams  with  a  cinder  In  yer  eye! 

You  have  rode  upon  th'  bumpers 
When  a  brakeman  In  his  jumpers 

Was  a-standin'  up  on  top  a-heavin'  coal. 
You  have  been  a  giddy  battler 
When  you  rode  upon  th'  rattler 

An'  you've  fought  th'  shack's  assault  with  heart  an* 
soul. 
Oh,  you've  had  yer  clothes  on  fire 
Deckin'  It,  or  yer  a  liar  — 

124 


BALLAD  OF  THE  BRAKETEAMS 

An'  you've  felt  th'  curse  o'  thirstiness  a-crossin'  deserts 
dry. 
You  have  hoofed  it  many  miles 
Bein'  floated  at  yer  trials  — 

But  have  you  rode  a  brakebeam  with  a  cinder  in  yer 
eye? 

You  have  rode  in  loads  o'  wheat, 
Loads  o'  coal  an'  mebbe  beat 

Th'  pilot  an'  th'  tender  as  yer  gittin'  long  th'  road. 
You  have  'scaped  a-many  wreck 
By  an  eyelash  I  expec'  — 

An'  you  had  ter  jump  expressers  when  th'  shacky  said 
"Unload!" 
I  have  heard  yer  joyous  boast 
O'  yer  trips  from  coast  ter  coast  — 

An'  I  doesn't  doubt  a  minute  that  you  all  are  mighty  fly. 
But  I  haven't  heard  you  mention 
So  I  calls  ter  yer  attention 

Th'  joys  o'  ridin'  brakebeams  with  a  cinder  in  yer  eye! 


125 


SONG  O'  THE  LOST  TRAINS 

DO  you  know  what  a  freight  train  says  to  a  guy 
When  he's  ditched  an'  it  goes  rumblin'  by? 
Rumblin'   along  it  sings  a  song,   an'  this  is  the  song  it 

sings  so  high: 

'*  Ha-a-a-am-gazzam-gazzam-ha-a-am-gazzam!  " 

Do  you  know  what  it  means  to  a  hobo  gent 
When  he's  t'run  from  a  rattler;  broken  an'  bent? 
He  lies  there  hurt  in  the  dust  an'  dirt,  while  the  train 
sings  back  from  the  way  it's  went : 

"  Ha-a-a-am-gazzam-gazzam-ha-a-am-gazzam!  " 

Do  you  know  how  a  "  shack  "  can  speak;  how  gruff 
He  talks  when  he  says  you're  far  enough ; 
An'  hands  you  a  punch  where  you  put  your  lunch,  while 
you're  tryin'  to  t'row  a  weak-kneed  bluff  — 

"  Ha-a-a-am-gazzam-gazzam-ha-a-am-gazzam !  '* 

Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  suffer  from  cold, 
From  thirst  an'  hunger  an'  then  be  rolled 
Offen  a  deck  on  the  back  o'  your  neck,  while  the  song 
comes  back  where  the  miles  enfold  — 

"  Ha-a-a-am-gazzam-gazzam-ha-a-am-gazzam !  " 

126 


SONG  O'  THE  LAST  TRAIN 

Do  you  know,  when  a  freight  train  hits  a  switch 
With  a  roar  an'  a  slam,  an'  a  snaky  twitch 
The  hymn  so  grim  it  sings  to  him  as  he  lays  watchin'  it 
from  the  ditch? 

"  Ha-a-a-am-gazzam-gazzam-ha-a-am-gazzam!  " 

That's  what  a  freight  train  says  to  a  guy 
When  he's  ditched,  with  a  boot  from  a  brakeman  spry; 
Cussin'   his  luck  he  lays  there  stuck  'till  another  train 
comes  a-rumblin'  by: 

"  Ha-a-a-am-gazzam-gazzam-ha-a-am-gazzam!  " 


127 


yee-sa:ng-hip 

A  TALE   OF   THE   PANAMA 

^^  /^HING  ching  Chinaman  stole  my  wood, 
^^       Ching  ching  Chinaman  aint  no  good!  ** 

Yee-Sang-Hip,  th'  dirty  ole  rip, 

Skin  drored  tight  on  his  monkey  head, 

Opium  stained  to  th'  finger  tip, 

Looked  like  a  mummy  a  thousand  year  dead ; 

Shy  o'  teeth  an'  short  an  eye. 

Skin  th'  color  o'  a  punkin  pie; 

Minded  best  to  th'  crack  o'  a  whip  — 

Yee-Sang-Hip,  th'  dirty  ole  rip! 

We  picked  him  up  at  Colon  when  th'  corps  was  short  o' 

help. 
An'   m.any  a  time  we  cussed  him   for  a  lazy,  worthless 

whelp ; 
He  couldn't  do  no  liftin'  an'  he  couldn't  even  cook, 
An'    mostly   he   was   smokin'    dope    in    some    sequestered 

nook! 

Hoppy-ej^ed   an'    full   o'   yen   shee   till   his  skin  was  like 
to  crack, 

128 


YEE-SANG-HIP 

Pie   stumbled   on   behind    th'    camp  —  we   couldn't   drive 

him  back; 
He  wuz  cussed  in  seven  lingoes  an'  he  often  felt  th'  boot, 
But  he  only  grinned  an'  grinned  again  an'  didn't  care  a 

hoot. 

We  had  elbowed  through  to  Bisqua  an'  th'  fever  grabbed 

us  there, 
An'  it  took  away  th'  fellers  'fore  they'd  time  to  breathe  a 

prayer ; 
An'  th'  coolies  in  their  terror  one  by  one  give  us  th'  slip, 
Till    th'    only    one    who    staid    with    us    was    one-eyed 

Yee-Sang-Hip. 

Fever  stink  in  all  th'  quarters,  not  a  man  could  raise  a 

hand ; 
Death  a-peekin'  round  th'  corners  in  a  God-forsaken  land  ; 
Not   a   man    could    even    amble   an'    no   help    in    twenty 

miles  — 
When  up  bobs  ornery  Yee-Sang-Hip  with  bland  an'  dopy 

smiles. 

Fever  touch  him?     Well,  not  so  that  you  could  notice  it. 
An'   strong   men   layin'    'round   so   sick   that   they   could 

hardly  spit ; 
Yee-Sang-Hip,  th'  pie-faced  Chino  wot  along  to  then  had 

shirked, 
Sudden  rose  to  th'  occasion  an'  jest  hopped  right  in  an' 

worked. 

129 


YEE-SANG-HIP 

"  Fixee  you,"  was  all  he  said,  an'  by  day  an*  night  he 
toiled, 

A-workin'  with  us  fellers  while  th'  hellish  fever  boiled ; 

An'  th'  same  Yee  we'd  been  cussin'  fer  a  worthless  China- 
man 

Had  a  touch  upon  yer  forehead  just  as  soft  as  woman's 
han'. 

Twenty  men  a-layin'  helpless  an'  he  tireless  lookout  kept, 
An'  all  believe  this  very  day  that  Yee-Sang  never  slept. 
Many  funny  draughts  he  brewed   us;   funny  things  he 

brought  to  eat; 
An'  one  by  one  he  worked  us  till  he  had  us  on  our  feet. 

Now  it  would  be  a  pretty  tale  to  say  Yee  took  down  sick 
As  soon  as  all  th'  men  wuz  up,  an'  say  he  cashed  In  quick ; 
An'  mention  with  some  pathos  how  we  watched  him  when 

he  died, 
An'  strong  men  stood  around  his  couch;  an'  detail  tears 

they  cried. 

But  I  am  bound  to  state  that  Yee  most  firm  declined  to 
die, 

An'  though  we  wondered  at  his  work  we  found  th'  rea- 
son why; 

He  grinned  at  all  our  feverish  thanks  an'  little  had  to  say, 

But  "  touched  "  each  feller  for  a  ten  when  next  we  got 
our  pay. 

130 


YEE-SANG-HIP 

An'  I  regret  to  say  that  Yee  still  stumbles  at  our  back, 
Hoppy-eyed  an'   full  o'   yen  shee  till  his  skin  is  like  to 

crack ; 
As  a  horny-handed  worker  there  couldn't  be  no  worse, 
So  we  cusses  him  as  usual  an'  wt  keeps  him  fer  a  nurse. 


131 


SONG  OF  THE  STEAM  SHOVEL 

^^/^HUFF!  Chuff!  Chuff!"     An'  a  mountain  bluff 

^^       Is  moved  by  the  shovel's  song; 
"  Chuff!  Chuff!  Chuff!  "     Oh,  the  grade  Is  rough 
A-lfftin'  the  landscape  along! 

We  are  ants  upon  a  mountain,  but  we're  leavin'  of  our 

dent, 
An'   our   teeth-marks  bitin'  scenery;  they  vv^ill  show  the 

way  we  went; 
We're  a-liftin'  half  creation  an'  we're  changin'  it  around 
Just  to  suit  our  playful  purpose  when  we're  diggin'   in 

the  ground. 

"Chuff!  Chuff!  Chuff!"     Oh,  the  grade  is  rough. 

An'  the  way  to  the  sea  is  long; 
"Chuff!  Chuff!  Chuff!"     An'  the  engines  puff 

In  tune  to  the  shovel's  song. 

We're  a-shiftin'  miles  like  Inches,  an'  we  grab  a  forest 

here 
Just  to  switch  it  over  yonder  so's  to  leave  an  angle  clear; 
We're    a-pushin'    leagues   o'    swamps    aside    so's   we    can 

hurry  by  — 
An'  if  we  had  to  do  it  we  would  probably  switch  the  sky! 

132 


SOXG  OF  THE  STEAM  SHOVEL 

"Chuff!  Chuii!  Chuff!"     An'  it  grabs  the  scruff 

O'  a  hill  an'  boosts  it  along; 
"  Chuff!  Chuff!  Chuff!  "     Oh,  the  grade  is  rough 

But  it  gives  to  the  shovel's  song. 

You   hears   it    in    the   mornin'    an'   you   hears   it   late    at 

night  — 
It's  our  battery  keepin'  action  with  support  o'  dynamite ; 
Oh,   you   gets  it   for  your   dinner,   an'   the  scenery  skips 

along  — 
In  a  movin'  panorama  to  the  chargin'  shovel's  song! 

"Chuff!  Chuff!  Chuff!"     Oh,  it's  hard  enough 
When  you're  changin'  a  job  gone  wrong; 

"  Chuff!  Chuff!  Chuff!  "     An'  there's  no  rebuff 
To  the  shovel  a-singin'  its  song! 

This  is  a  fight  that's  fightin'  an'  the  battle's  to  the  death; 
There  ain't  no  stoppin'  here  to  rest  or  even  catch  your 

breath ; 
You  ain't  no  noble  hero  an'  you  leave  no  gallant  name  — 
You're  a-fightin'  Nature's  army  an'  it  ain't  no  easy  game ! 

**  Chuff'!  Chuff!  Chuff!  "     Oh,  the  grade  is  rough, 

An'  the  way  to  the  end  is  long; 
"Chuff!  Chuff!  Chuff!"     An'  the  engines  puff 

As  we  lift  the  landscape  along! 


133 


THE  FALL  OF  A  GOD 

BALLAD   OF  A  BEACH   COMBER 

BUNGALOO-Blllydad-Comesy-Boo, 
King  o'  th'  Island  o'  B  ally- San  too ; 
'E  'as  a  string  o'  some  forty-two  wives; 
Stores  'em  away  in  some  forty-two  hives; 
Bungaloo-Billydad-Comesy-Boo, 
'E  'as  'is  troubles  betwixt  me  'n  you. 

Boss  o'  th'  God  House  comes  to  'im  one  day; 
Sez  Mister  God  is  a-pinin'  away; 
Wants  for  to  'ave  a  companion  in  life  — 
'E's  been  demandin'  a  charmin'  young  wife; 
Un  'at  kin  cook,  an'  un  'at  kin  sing; 
'E  wants  th'  pick  o'  th'  Bungaloo  string. 

Bungaloo-Billydad-Comesy-Boo, 
"  Wot  in  th'  dickens,"  sez  'e,  "  kin  I  do? 
I  loves  'em  all,  an'  they're  all  lovin'  me; 
How  I'm  to  pick  'er  I  really  don't  see; 
Never  did  'ear  o'  so  orful  a  bore  — 
Gotter  be  done  er  th'  God  '11  get  sore." 

134 


THE  FALL  OF  A  GOD 

Up  speaks  myself,  and  I  sez,  "  It's  a  cinch  — 

I  am  th'  lad  wot  is  great  in  a  pinch; 

Line  up  yer  wives  an'  I  picks  un  right  out  — 

Never  no  trouble  an'  never  no  doubt." 

Bungaloo-Billydad-Comesy-Boo, 

Grabs  at  th'  notion  an'  puts  er'  right  through. 

Forty-two  wives  out  in  one  single  row 
Make  quite  a  string,  as  I'll  have  you  to  know; 
Fussin'  an'  crowdin'  an'  kickin'  up  dust, 
Hard  to  determine  just  which  un's  th'  wust. 
Long  uns  an'  short  uns  an'  fat  uns  an'  thins  — 
Lines  'em  up  even  an'  then  I  begins: 

*'  *  Onery,  owery,  ickory,  Ann  — 

Phillison,  FoUison,  Nicholas,  John!'  — 

You  with  th'  smile  an'  the  feathery  fan 

Kindly  to  foller  th'  God  Tender  on; 

Ain't  much  on  looks,  but  I  guess  'at  you'll  do  — 

Easiest  job  'at  I  ever  put  through." 

Bungaloo-Billydad-Comesy-Boo, 
"Whoa!"  'e  sez  fiercely,  "now  'at  un  won't  do; 
Couldn't  to  think  about  givin'  'at  wife  — 
She  is  Chelooloo,  th'  joy  o'  my  life; 
Try  'em  agin,  for  there's  un  'at  th'  right 
Who  bothers  me  some  when  I  stay  out  at  night." 

135 


THE  FALL  OF  A  GOD 

"  '  DIckery,  stickery,  kickery,  dock, 

All  o'  yer  winter  clothes  gone  into  hock  '  — 

You  with  th'  face  like  a  summer  squash  pie 

Step  from  th'  line  an'  let  'em  pass  by." 

"Whoa!"  sez  th'  King,  lookin'  flustered  an'  hot, 

*'  She  is  th'  only  real  cook  'at  I've  got!  " 

" 'Hubbadoo,  rubadoo,  clubadoo,  blub  — 
Wiggery,  waggery,  wuggery,  wub  '  — 
You  on  th'  end  with  th'  mouth  like  a  door, 
Out  from  th'  line  —  but  th'  King  gives  a  roar: 
"  She  is  th'  newest,  just  got  'er  to-day. 
Couldn't  to  think  about  givin'  away." 

Took  'em  in  order  right  down  through  th'  list, 
Shouldn't  'ave  thought  'at  a  un  'ud  be  missed. 
Every  un  called,  but  th'  King  'ad  a  kick  — 
Thought  o'  some  virtue  an'  thought  it  up  quick; 
An'  when  th'  list  it  was  finally  done  — 
Bungaloo  sez,  "  I  won't  give  'im  a  un!  " 

Bungaloo-Billydad-Comesy-Boo, 
Grabs  up  'is  war  club  an'  six  pistol,  too; 
Hits  for  th'  Temple  with  blood  in  'is  eye, 
Catches  th'  Tender  a  crack  goin'  by ; 
Up  to  th'  God  an'  'e  wallops  it  'ard  — 
Scatters  th'  pieces  all  over  th'  yard. 

136 


THE  FALL  OF  A  GOD 

Bungaloo-Billydad-Comesy-Boo, 
King  o'  th'  Island  o'  Bally-Santoo ; 
'E  'as  a  string  o'  some  forty-two  wives; 
Stores  'em  away  in  some  forty-two  hives; 
'E  cooes  around  like  a  fat  turtle  dove, 
Won't  'ave  no  God  in  'is  kingdom  but  Love ! 


137 


THE  LAST   OF   THE  HACKDRIVERS 

A  STORY  OF  THE   CITY 

'\7'  OU  all  recall  "  Seattle,"  and  his  team  of  balky  grays 
-■■       Who  stood  at  Kelcey's  corner  for  a  score  of  years 

or  more; 
His  hack  a  welcome  haven  in  your  salad,  ballad  days 
When  you  steered,  a  trifle  tempest  tossed,  against  his 
friendly  shore. 
You  must  recall  "  Seattle,"  and  the  creak  and  squeak  and 
rattle 
Of  his  deep  sea-going  carnage  as  it  churned  along  the 
street ; 
In  rain  or  shine  he  waited  for  the  patrons  he  had  slated  — 
And    now,    they    say,    "  Seattle's "    dead ;    time    surely 
passes  fleet! 

You  must  recall  "  Seattle,"  and  his  horses,  Tom  and  Joe; 
His    beaming,    liquored    countenance,    and    somewhat 
husky  bass  — 
For  twenty  years  of  night  he  stood  and  watched  us  come 
and  go 
And   lent   a   helping  hand   to  us  with   all   his  courtly 
grace. 
He  drove  you  to  your  courting,   to  your  wedding  and 
disporting, 

138 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    HACKDRIVERS 

He  stood,  a  beacon  of  relief,  from  nightfall  until  dawn. 
When  anyone  was  buried,  in  his  good  old  hack  he  ferried 
The  mourners  to  the  graveyard  where  he  himself  has 
gone. 

Aye,  we  all  recall  *'  Seattle,"  and  his  team  of  sulky  grays, 

A  taxicab  is  at  his  stand,  and  he  has  passed  along. 
But  we  seem  to  hear  —  an  echo  of  the  ballad,  salad  days  — 
His  husky  voice  uplifted  in  an  oldtime  dance  hall  song. 
So  w^e'U  weep  for  old  "  Seattle,"  and  we'll  miss  the  creak 
and  rattle 
Of  the  iron-heeled  wheels  that  sang  to  us  in  creeping 
down  the  road; 
And  in  that  place  hereafter,  we  will  greet  that  kindly 
grafter 
With  a  pleasant,  ''  How,  Seattle,"  and  a  "  Have  you 
got  a  load  ?  " 


139 


THE  OUTBREAK 

OH-H-H!     Hark! 
^^ Down  on  your  knees  and  pray! 

Ten  bad  men  from  Cell  House  Four 
Hazre   killed  a  guard  and  sprung  a  door 
And  they're  trying  to  get  away  — 
Down!     Get  down,  and  pray! 

A  roar  rips  wide  the  peaceful  night  — 

Spikes  of  flame  barb  the  upper  walls 
Where  the  rifles  answer  the  dynamite 

And  the  guards  fire  wild  where  the  gray  rats  crawl. 

The  whistles  scream;  the  bells  give  tongue; 

The  searchlight  splits  the  sullen  dark  — 
A  fierce  alarm  through  town  is  flung, 

And  now  we  hear  the  bloodhounds  bark. 

A  rattle  and  crash  on  every  tier  — 

The  guards  pour  in  with  riot  gun; 
Wild-eyed  we  listen  and  pray  to  hear 

Some  word,  some  hope,  the  ten  have  won. 

They  blew  a  gate ;  they  got  through  —  all  — 
We  sense  that  much  who  knew  the  plan ; 

They  scattered  out  beyond  the  wall, 

Each  for  himself  —  God  help  each  man ! 

140 


THE  OUTBREAK 

Listen!     The  pop  of  guns  grows  faint; 

And  now  they  seem  to  die  away  — 
The  night  has  passed  but  left  a  taint 

Of  blood  upon  the  morning  gray. 

Sh-h-h!     Hark! 
Down  on  your  knees  and  pray! 
What  was  that  the  turnkey  said? 
All  of  them  caught  —  eight  of  them  dead 
Not  one  managed  to  get  awayf 
Down!     Get  doiun  and  pray! 


141 


DIAMOND  DITTIES 


A   MINOR  LEAGUE  MELODY 

I'M   stallin'  me  way  through  the  Caviar  League  on  a 
flash  o'  me  ole  time  speed; 
I'm  hittin'   three  twenty  for  Banbury  Bend  an'   keepin' 

it  out  in  the  lead  — 
I  usta  hit  better  for  Hanlon,  perhaps,  in  the  time  o'  the 

Baltimore  team, 
But   I've   gone   quite   a  ways   since   the   halcyon   days  o' 

me  youth  an'  me  major  league  dream! 
Oh,  I'm  ole  an'  me  legs  are  as  wooden  as  pegs  an'  they 

tell  me  me  tootsies  don't  track  — 
They's  a  stitch  in  me  side  w^hen  I  run  or  I  slide  —  an' 

I  reckon  I'll  never  go  back! 

I've  been  through  the  Bushes  from  'Frisco  to  Maine,  an' 

a  lot  o'  the  map  in  between, 
An'  the  stuff  that  I've  seen  in  them  Fire  Cracker  Leagues 

was  stuff  that  no  gent  should  have  seen. 
I've  played  in  the  north,  east  an'  west  an'  the  South,  an' 

they're  onto  me  every  ole  place  — 
They  set  up  a  yell:  "  W'y  here's  Noah  — well,  well!" 

—  then  I  bat  'em  close  up  in  the  race. 
Oh,  I'm  ole  an'  me  eyes  are  all  gone,  but  I'm  wise  an' 

me  noodle  makes  up  for  me  lack 
O'  me  whip  an'  the  pep  o'  me  major  league  rep.,  but  it's 

likely  I'll  never  go  back. 

145 


A  MINOR  LEAGUE  MELODY 

Me  stomach  ain't  strong  for  these  wolf  wild  kids  wit* 

their  awful  control  an'  their  smoke  — 
If  ever  they  bean  me  wit'  one  o'  them  slants  I'm  as  dead 

as  a  mack'rel  in  soak. 
An'  when  they  come  slidin'  feet  first  to  me  sack  I  has  to 

give  way  an'  I  feel 
That  I've  gone  quite  a  ways  since  the  halcyon  days  when 

I  stood  to  the  slides  an'  the  steel. 
Still,  they's  many  a  star  in  a  Big  League  car  that  went  on 

me  tip  to  ole  Mac  — 
I've  sent  up  some  kids  since  they  give  me  the  skids  — 

but  pussonly  I'll  never  go  back! 


140 


THE  FREE  HITTER 


VTTHO.me? 


Listen ! 
I've  elbowed  me  way  from   Now^here  to  a  seat  wit'   a 

champion  team, 
By  puttin'  some  dents  in  the  center  field  fence  along  o' 

me  turrible   steam. 
I've  heard   'em   debatin'  me  system,   an'   I've  heard   'em 
discussin'  me  style  — 
Listen ! 
Me  secret  is  punchin'  the  ball  on  the  snout  an'  makin'  it 
ramble  a  mile! 

That's  me! 

I  always  hit  it  a  mile! 
It's  a  trick  that  I  learned  in  the  Timber,  for  the  boss  he 

would  say  wit'  a  smile: 
"  Step  up  there,  you  rummy,  an'  wop  it,  an'  be  sure  ,that 
you  wop  it  a  mile!  " 

The  fadeaways  fade  to  a  fancy,  an'  the  spitters  go  splat- 

terin'  out, 
An'  all  o'  their  smoke  is  a  Bush-league  joke  if  you  clout 

it  a  toe-swung  clout; 
An'  they's  never  no  zones  o'  safety  an'  they's  never  no  sys- 
tem or  style  — 

Get  me! 

147 


THE  FREE  HITTER 

That'll  blockade  the  track  o'  a  fence  bound  smack  if  you 
tune  It  to  sing  for  a  mile! 
That's  me! 

I  always  make  it  a  mile! 
They  teach  it  back  there  in  the  Jungles,  where  they's 

never  no  system  or  style: 
"  Step  up  there,  you  low  brow,  an'  lum  it  —  an'  be  sure 
that  you  lam  it  a  mile !  " 

Yessir!     I  horned  meself  in  here  from  Nowhere,  an'  I'm 

settin'  these  batsmen  a  pace  — 
They's  never  a  day  that  the  papers  don't  say  I  study  the 

pitchers  I  face  — 
That's  a  scream,   for  me  secret   is  simple,   an'   you   all 
oughta  give  it  a  trial  — 
Listen ! 
I  step  up  an'  snare  me  a  good  one  an'  then  I  just  spank 
it  a  mile! 

That's  me! 

I  only  hit  it  a  mile! 

You  get  it  back  there  in  the  Cat  Tails,  where  it's  runs 

that  they  want  all  the  while. 
An'  they  yell :  "  Get  up  there  an'  ding  it,  an'  be  sure 

that  you  ding  it  a  mile!  " 


148 


BLACKLISTED 

RAPPED  to  the  way  that  I  stood  to  the  pan?     Rap- 
ped to  the  way  that  I  swung? 
Well,  it's  me  —  Kid  Massingale,  mister  —  that  goes  by 

the  name  o'  McClung! 
Playin'  the  field  here  for  sixty  a  month  wit'  a  job  in  a 

store  on  the  side  — 
Blacklisted?     Sure!     An'  the  National  Commish  makes 
it  foller  wherever  I  hide. 

They  let  all  the  good  ones  they  just  had  to  have  slip  back 

in  the  organized  fold 
When   the   Northwestern   outlaws  went   onto   the   rocks, 

but  me  —  an'  some  more  —  were  too  old. 
We  jumped  in  the  days  when  we  all  had  the  goods,  an' 

we  jumped  at  a  time  when  it  hurt  — 
An'  lookin'  it  over  from  where  I  sit  now  I'll  admit  that 

we  did  do  'em  dirt! 

You  notice  the  ole  man  still  hits  'em  a  bit?     I  could  man- 
age a  minor  league  crowed  — 

But  you  bet  all  you   got  that  the  National   Commish'll 
go  crazy  before  it's  allowed. 

I  might  be  an  umpire,  I  might  be  a  scout,  as  it  is  I  ain't 
nothin'    at   all. 

Because  I  got  chesty  an'  wanted  more  dough,  an'  I  hopped 
out  o'  organized  ball! 

149 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

WELL,  we're  seeding  the  Jungles  with  Spring  recruits 
as  we're  leaving  the  South  astern ; 
We're  planting  a  crop  of  next  year's  grief  when  they'll 

come  for  a  second  turn. 
But  we  pound  our  ears  to  the  carwheel's  croon  with  a 

good,  glad  tunk  in  our  hearts, 
For  we're  shed  of  the  kids  who  threatened  our  jobs,  and 
it's  soon  that  the  salary  starts. 

We're  leaving  our  aches  and  pains  at  the  springs  where 

we  stripped  from  our  Winter  ease. 
And  we  josh  the  boobs  at  the  kidtown  stops  with  many 

an  old-time  wheeze; 
We  raise  our  voices  and  raise  our  bets  with  the  faith  that 

a  flush  imparts  — 
As  we  sift  through  the  South  and  the  winds  o'  March 

to  the  time  when  the  salary  starts. 

We're  booming   along   through   some   bush   league   dates 

to  our  places  as  first  page  news 
(And   a   Pullman's   a   pretty  soft  berth,   my  boy,   when 

you're  sure  of  your  regular's  shoes!) 
So  we  dream  to  the  drone  of  the  drumming  wheels  with 

a  peace  in  our  minds  and  hearts, 
A.nd   we  hope  that   the  kid   from   the   Six   Gun   League 

breaks  a  leg  ere  the  next  year  starts! 

150 


A  RINGSIDE  RHYME 

OHUFFLIN'  mah  feet  in  de  rawsum,  waitin'  de  soun 

*^         o'  de  gong, 

Seems  toe  me  lak  Ah  heahs  a  voice  —  yo'll  say  dat  mah 

haid  is  wrong; 
It  comes  fum  de  gemmen's  co'nah,  a  whispahin'  soft  an' 

low  — 
An'  Ah  heahs  dat  gemmen's  right  han'  speak  an'  it  say 
toe  de  lef,  jess  so  — 
It  saiz : 

"Ka-bam!    Ka-bam!    Ka-bam!" 
Thass  all ! 

Yessuh;    Heah   is   mah   ole   brown   baf   robe,    noddin'    to 

frien's  at  de  ring, 
Figgahin'  to  bus'  de  gemmen's  crus'  as  soon  as  de  gong 

go  ding; 
Finkin'  about  mah  sixty  puh  cent  —  an'  den  Ah  mos'  lose 

mah  bref  — 
Fob  de  right  han'  mumble  an'  muttah  an'  den  it  answahs 
de  lef  — 

An'  it  saiz: 

"Ka-bam!    Ka-bam!    Ka-bam!" 

Thass  all! 

151 


A  RINGSIDE  RHYME 

Tyin'  mah  shoestring  ca'less,  an'  gibin'  mah  sassiest  looks, 
Does  yo'  say  as  Ah  fought  him  nuvus  —  w'y,  boss,  kin 

a  man  fight  spooks? 
No,  sah!     Dey's  nuffin  to  DAT  —  Ah  hasn't  no  yallar 

streak. 
But  Ah  heahs  de  lef  han'  say  toe  de  right,  an'  de  right 
han'  up  an'  speak  — 
An'  it  saiz: 

"Ka-bam!    Ka-bam!    Ka-bam!" 
Thass  all ! 


152 


PABALITA  SANDOVAL 

OTRANGER,  hear  the  echoes  call — 

^  "  Pabalita 

''  Pabalita 

"  Pabalita  Sandoval!  " 

Always  In  the  mountain  passes, 
In  the  canons  'long  th'  river  — 

An'  where  the  prairie  grasses 

To  th'  night  winds  lightly  shiver; 

You  kin  hear  it  softly  sighin' 

Whisperin'  a  love  undyin'  — 

For  it  is  his  spirit  cryin' 
"  Pabalita  Sandoval!  " 

Listen  to  th*  plaza  s  tale 
O'  th'  night  wind's  mournful  wail  — 
Not  th'  wind,  they  say  —  th'  call 
"  Pabalita  Sandoval!  " 

Pabalita  Sandoval,  purtiest  girl  on  th'  Rio  Grande, 
Eyes  like  sparks  an'  hair  a  shawl,  black  as  ary  nigger's 

hand. 
Lips  like  roses,  rich  an'  red,  pursin'  to  a  kissin'  pose  — 

153 


PABALITA  SANDOVAL 

Lips  that  teched  'em  bled,  they  said;  cactus  lay  within 

th'  rose. 
Hell  wuz  broodin'  in  her  eyes;  passion  slumbered  in  her 

heart  — 
Onct  aroused  It  never  dies  an'  it  tore  her  soul  apart  — 
Soul  ?     Aye,  yes,  warped  some,  an'  thin ;  somewhat  stained 

with  bitter  gall. 
Love  stole  out  an'  hate  crept  in  —  Pabalita  Sandoval  — 

Hear  'em  softly j  softly  call  — 

''  Pabalita 

''  Pabalita 

''  Pabalita  Sandoval!  " 

Billy  Hall,  called  Cigarette,  an'  a  outlaw  kid  wuz  Billy 

Hall, 
Comes  to  Mesa  an'  he  met  Pabalita  Sandoval. 
Nervy  kid  wuz  Billy  Hall,  handsome,  too,  an'  tall  an' 

slim; 
Pabalita  Sandoval  saw  him  an'  she  went  to  him. 
Pabalita  went  to  him  as  to  many  more  she'd  gone  — 
Sang  them  syreen  songs  to  him  an'  he  foUered  sheeplike 

on. 
Strong  men  tried  to  change  his  pace;  talked  like  dads  to 

Billy  Hall, 
But  he  only  saw  th'  face  —  Pabalita  Sandoval. 


154 


PABALITA  SANDOVAL 

Now  you  hear  'em  louder  call  — 

''  Pabalita 

''  Pabalita 


''  Pabalita  Sandoval/  " 

On  his  head  wuz  hung  a  price,  thousand  plunks  alive  or 

dead  —  ,  , 

Many  tried -but  never  twice  -  Billy's  mark  wuz  long 

an'  red!  , 

So  they  laughed  an'  played  together  through  them  long 

dry  summer  days  — 
Rode  th'  range  in  ary  weather,  dreamin'  In  a  golden  haze. 
An'  they  planned  beyond  th'  dangers,  BUI  he  wuz  to  quit 

his  life —  1  •    1     •  » 

Dodgin'   death  an'   also  Rangers -she  to  be  his  lovm 

Aye, They  planned,  she  seemed  to  mean  it,  seemed  to  love 

that  Billy  Hall—  ,    ,.     c     j      i 

An'  th'  end  — Ah,  could  she  seen  it  — Pabalita  Sandoval. 

Hear  'em  sorrowfully  call  — 

''  Pabalita 

"  Pabalita 

"  Pabalita  Sandoval!  '* 

Bat  McMasters,  One-eyed  Bat,  gun  man  from  the  Fallin* 

Wall ! 
Wicked  cuss,  but  game  at  that,  comes  a  huntin'   Billy 

Hall. 

155 


PABALITA  SANDOVAL 

'Frald  to  take  an  even  break  Bat  he  knows  a  better  stall, 
An'  he  plays  that  shemale  snake  —  Pabalita  Sandoval ! 
Pabalita  Sandoval !     Bat  wuz  on  th'  buy,  she  sold 
All  th'  love  o'  Billy  Hall  for  a  dirty  mess  of  gold. 
Sold  it  as  you  sell  a  cow,  bartered,  traded  it,  that's  all  — 
Hear  them  echoes  callin'  now?     Pabalita  Sandoval  — 

Spirits  weepf     You  hear  that  call  — 

''  Pabalita 

''  Pabalita 

"  Pabalita  Sandoval!  '* 

Down  along  th'  Broken  Stick  Billy  playin'  hide  an'  seek, 
Comes  a  message  she  wuz  sick,  callin'  for  him  —  gettin' 

weak. 
Thirty  miles  through  blindin'  snow  comes  a-tearin'  Billy 

Hall  — 
Prayin'  death  would  take  her  slow  —  Pabalita  Sandoval ! 
Dangers  lay  at  every  jump,  Death  reached  forth  an  eager 

hand  — 
But  he  made  his  cayuse  hump,  atmosphere  he  fairly  fanned. 
So  he  came  in  his  devotion,  so  he  came,  this  Billy  Hall 
Cryin'  in  his  heart's  emotion — "Pabalita  Sandoval!" 

As  you  hear  that  moanin*  call  — 

"  Pabalita 

"  Pabalita 

"  Pabalita  Sandoval!  '* 

156 


PA  B  A  LIT  A  SANDOVAL 

Billy  Hall,  called  Cigarette,  an'  a  outlaw  kid  wuz  Billy 

Hall 
Playin'  for  his  'special  bet,  Pabalita  Sandoval ! 
Pabalita  lay  abed;  One-eyed  Bat  behind  th'  door; 
Listenin'  for  Billy's  tread  —  shotgun  loaded  to  th'  bore. 
*'  Pabalita!  "     Billy  cries  as  he  bursts  into  th'  room  — 
"  Pabalita!  "  an'  he  spies  Bat  a-standin'  in  th'  gloom. 
Quick  he  fired  but  Bat  wuz  quicker  by  a  wink  than  Billy 

Hall  — 
This  his  dyin'  life-lamp's  flicker — "  Pabalita  Sandoval!  " 

Like  you  hear  that  echo  call  — 

^'  Pabalita 

"^^  Pabalita 

'"^  Pabalita  Sandoval/  " 

Billy  shootin'   through  th'   dark,  wide  o'   Bat  his  bullet 

sped, 
Still  it  reached  a  shinin'  mark,  struck  her  as  she  lay  abed. 
Struck  her  where  her  heart  should   be,    an'   they   heard 

her  shriekin'  call 
*'Beela!     Beela!     Come  to  me  —  Pabalita  Sandoval!" 
So  they  laid  'em  down  out  yonder  where  the  mountain 

flowers  grow, 
Where  the  woolly  sheep  flocks  w^ander  an'  the  mountain 

breezes  blow. 
But  his  soul,  they  say,  ain't  sleepy,  an'  it  rambles  —  hear 

that  call  — 
Don't  it  start  th'  shivers  creepy? — "  Pabalita  Sandoval!  " 

157 


PA  B  A  LIT  A  SANDOVAL 

Hear  the  echoes  loudly  call  — 

'^'^  Pabalita 

"  Pabalita 

''  Pabalita  Sandoval!  " 

Always  in  the  mountain  passes, 
In  the  canons  'long  th'  river  — 

An'  where  the  prairie  grasses 

To  th'  night  winds  lightly  shiver; 

You  kin  hear  it  softly  sighin' 

Whisperin'   a  love   undyin' — 

For  it  is  his  spirit  cryin' 
"Pabalita  Sandoval!" 

An   that  is  sure  the  plaza's  tale 
O'  th'  night  wind's  mournful  wail  — 
Not  th'  wind,  they  say,  th'  call 
"  Pabalita  Sandoval!  " 


158 


REQUIEM 

C  HUFFLE  by  and  gaze  on  him,  as  he  lays  in  gracious 

^^    sleep ; 

Rest  for  him  who's  gone  away,  where  the  best  and  worst 

shall  go. 
Sorrow  not;  the  eyes  are  dim;  sweet  indeed  the  sleep  of 

him  — 
Sorrow  not,  for  God  is  good  —  let  the  drums  beat  very 

low. 

Somewhere    out    ahead    is    light;    somewhere    in    the    sea 

there's  land ; 
Pass  him  by  in  deepest  silence;  let  him  sleep. 
Still  and  cold  he  seems?     Not  so;  in  his  heart  there  is  a 

glow; 
Sorrow^  not ;  for  God  is  gentle  —  do  not  weep. 

Sings  a  lark  at  golden  morn;  sings  a  song  of  grace  for 

him; 
Sorrow  not,  his  dreams  are  quiet  dreams  of  love. 
Sorrow  not ;  he  smiles  again ;  warm  his  smiling  lips  again  ; 
^Varm  his  heart  —  for  God  is  gracious  with  His  love. 


159 


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•"»    141838 

««  10  w« 

MOV  18194ill^a 

.JAN  M    1947 

■■'   ii 

MAY  i  0  1969  i>  t 

^r\r\     ~^..-»#^r\      -«f\    aa 

APR  2. 8  69  -12  M 

LOAN   DEPT, 

SEP  2  5  2005 

LD  21-95/H-7,'37 

